Lives of illustrious and distinguished Irishmen, from the earliest times to the present period

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LIVES

OF

ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED

IRISHMEN,

FROM

THE EARLIEST TIMES TO THE PRESENT PERIOD,

ARRANGED IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

AND EMBODYING A

EDITED BV

JAMES WILLS, A.M.T.C.D., M.R.I.A.

Author of I.otter* <m the Philosophy of Unbelief, &c., &c., 8.C.

EMBELLISHED BV A SERIES OF HIGHLY-FINISHED PORTRAITS, SELECTED FROM
THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES, AND ENGRAVED BY EMINENT ARTISTS.

VOL. V.

DUBLIN:

MACGREGOR, POLSON, AND COMPANY,

10, UPPER ABBEY STREET ; 42, NELSON STREET, BELFAST ;

6, ROXBURGH PLACE, EDINBURGH ; AND

75, ARGYLL STREET, GLASGOW.

1844.

CONTENTS OF VOL. V.

FOURTH PERIOD.

H. ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES

continued.

i

1. George Berkeley, D.D., Bishop

of Cloyne, . . .

in. LITERARY SERIES.

2. Michael Cleary,

3. John Colgan,

4. Geoffrey Keating,

6. The Hon. Robert Boyle,

6. Valentine Greatrakes,

7. Wentworth Dillon, Earl of

Roscommon, . .

8. Sir James Ware, .

9. Henry Dodwell,

10. John Toland,

11. Sir William Brounker, Vis-

count Castlelyons, .

12. George Farquhar,

13. Nahum Tate,

14. Sir Richard Steele,

15. Robert Molesworth, Viscount

Molesworth, . .

16. Charles Boyle, Fourth Earl of

Orrery,

17.

Turlough Carolan,

FAOE

89

18.

Thomas Southern,

93

19.

Francis Hutcheson, . .

96

IGE

20.

Sir Hans Sloane,

101

1

•

FIFTH PERIOD.

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION.

27

I POLITICAL SERIES.

28

28

21.

Ulysses Maximilian Browne,

144

29

22.

Charles Lucas, M.D.,

144

48

23.

Anthony Malone,

153

24.

James, Earl of Charlemont,

157

65

25.

Henry Flood,

210

56

26.

Walter Hussey Burgh,

231

68

27.

John Hely Hutchinson,

233

59

28.

Barry Telverton, Viscount

Ayonmore,

237

67

29.

Sir Boyle Roche, Baronet,

242

67

30.

Edmund Burke, .

244

71

31.

Henry Grattan,

361

72

32.

Edmond Sexton Perry, Lord

Perry, . . .

394

81

33.

Theobald Wolfe Tone,

395

34.

John Fitzgibbon, Earl of

82

Clare, ....

432

- .

/

.

^

.

'/,

.

LIYES

OF

ILLUSTRIOUS AND DISTINGUISHED
IRISHMEN.

WM*> Btefiop

BORN, A. D. 1684. — DIED, A. D. 1753.

GEORGE BERKELEY was the son of William Berkeley, of Kilcrin, near
Thomastown, in the county of Kilkenny — the county of Flood, Lang-
rishe, Bushe, and other names not to be forgotten in the roll of honour.
He was born, March 12, 1684.

We are not enabled to give any detail of the history of his ances-
tors. It is mentioned in the memorial written by Dr Stock, and
appended to the collection of his writings, that his grandfather came
over to Ireland after the restoration, his family having been great
sufferers, for their loyalty, in the civil wars ; and that he " obtained
the collectorship of Belfast." His ancestor is elsewhere mentioned as
a younger branch of the earls of Berkeley.

Berkeley received the first part of his education at Kilkenny school,
from which so many scholars of the first eminence have come. Of
the peculiar indications of his schoolboy years, no notice has been
preserved. He entered as a pensioner in the University of Dublin,
in his fifteenth year, under the tuition of Dr Hall ; and in 1 707,
when about twenty-three, he obtained a fellowship. The same year
he published an essay on mathematical science, which had been
written before he was twenty, and was probably the fruit of his studies
for the fellowship. This was an attempt to demonstrate arithmetic
without algebra or Euclid. As we intend to conclude this memoir
with a distinct notice of his writings, we shall only here observe the
evidence which such an attempt contains of a moral feature in his
character, which, we are fully convinced, had a very considerable
effect in determining the nature of all his writings, and some parts, at
least, of his conduct: this was a freedom from the influence thrown
over the mind by the settled conventions of human opinion, and a con-
sequent disposition to take novel and eccentric courses, at the real or
apparent dictate of reason or duty,— -a temper, of which one of the
results was, a very unusual simplicity and singleness of character;

VOL. V. A

2 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

another, a boldness equally remarkable, though we think far less for-
tunate, in the highly adventurous career of his philosophy.

His Theory of Vision came out in 1709> and the Principles of
Human Knowledge, which gave the ultimate stamp to his philosophi-
cal character, in the following year. In 1 7 1 2, he was induced to enter
upon the discussion of those questions of political theory, which then
mainly interested the public. The reader is already aware of the
connexion of the questions upon the rights of kings, and the doctrine
of passive obedience, with the history of the revolution which placed
the family of Hanover on the British throne. Locke's celebrated
treatise turned the attention of Berkeley to the controversy, on which
he delivered three commonplaces, in the college chapel : these he
afterwards printed ; and as he undertook to maintain the exploded
doctrine, which was supposed to be connected with adherence to the
banished family of the Stuart princes, he was afterwards represented
as a Jacobite, by Lord Galway, when recommended to him for prefer-
ment, by the prince and princess of Wales. Mr Molyneux, who had
been Berkeley's pupil in college, and had introduced him to these
royal personages, took care to remove the impression, by showing,
from the work" that the principles of the writer were thoroughly
loyal.

His system of materialism, as a matter of course, attracted a very
high degree of attention among that class of persons who delight in
the barren perplexities of metaphysics. The controversial opposition
which it excited was more shown in the general opposition of emi-
nent men, such as Whiston, Clarke, and others, than by any express
attempts at refutation. Of this, the following extract from Whiston's
memoir of Clarke may give a notion sufficient for our present pur-
pose : — " And perhaps it will not be here improper, by way of caution,
to take notice of the pernicious consequence such metaphysical subtil-
ties have sometimes had, even against common sense, and common
experience, as in the cases of those three famous men, Mons. Leibnitz,
Mr Locke, and Mr Berkeley. — (The first, in his pre-established Har-
mony ; the second, in the dispute with Limborch about human liberty.)
And as to the third named, Mr Berkeley, he published, A.D. 1710, at
Dublin, the metaphysic notion, that matter was not a real thing ; nay,
that the common opinion of its reality was groundless, if not ridiculous.
He was pleased to send Dr Clarke and myself, each of us, a book.
After we had both perused it, I went to Dr Clarke, and discoursed
with him about it to this effect, — that I, being not a metaphysician,
was not able to answer Mr Berkeley's subtile premises, though I did
not at all believe his absurd conclusion. I, therefore, desired that he
who was deep in such subtilties, but did not appear to believe Mr
Berkeley's conclusion, would answer him, — which task he declined.
I speak not these things with intention to reproach either Mr Locke
or dean Berkeley. I own the latter's great abilities in other parts of
learning; and to his noble design of settling a college in, or near the
West Indies, for the instruction of natives in civil arts, and in the
principles of Christianity, 1 heartily wish all possible success. It is
the pretended metaphvsic science itself, derived from the sceptical dis-
putes of the Greek philosophers, not those particular great men who

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 3

have been, unhappily, imposed on by it, that I complain of. Accord-
ingly, when the famous Milton had a mind to represent the vain rea-
sonings of wicked spirits in Hades, he described it by their endless
train of metaphysics, thus : —

" Others apart sat on a lull retired," «fcc. — Far. Lost. ii. 557 — 561.

" Many years after this, at Mr Addison's instance, there was a meet-
ing of Drs Clarke and Berkeley to discuss this speculative point; and
great hopes were entertained from the conference. The parties, how-
ever, separated without being able to come to any agreement. Dr B.
declared himself not well satisfied with the conduct of his antag-
onist on the occasion, who, though he could not answer, had not
candour enough to own himself convinced. But the complaints of
disputants against each other, especially on subjects of this abstruse
nature, should be heard with suspicion."

In 1713, he went over to London, and there published a defence of
his philosophical theory, in " Three Dialogues between Hylas and
Philonous." The ingenuity and the singular acuteness of intellect
displayed in these writings attracted the admiration of scholars and
literary men ; and his acquaintance was sought and cultivated by the
most distinguished persons of the time; Steele and Swift, especially
the latter, were active in introducing him to those who might be ser-
viceable to his advancement. Steele employed him to write several
papers in the Guardian, for each of which he is said to have given
him a guinea and a dinner. At Steele's house he frequently met Pope,
and formed an intimacy with him, which grew into a lasting friendship.
He was introduced to the celebrated earl of Peterborough, by Swift,
whose influence with this nobleman was very great. At his instance,
the earl took Berkeley with him, as chaplain and secretary, when,
towards the end of the same year, he was appointed ambassador to
the king of Sicily, and the other Italian states.

He was left for three months at Leghorn, by the earl, while he went
on by himself, to Sicily, to discharge the functions of his embassy.
During his absence, a really trifling incident gave Berkeley a fright,
to which he was afterwards used to revert with pleasantry, among
his friends. At that period, it is stated, by Dr Clarke, that the
only place in Italy where the service of the protestant church was
tolerated, was at Leghorn — a favour then recently obtained by queen
Anne from the grand duke. It happened that Dr Kennett, chaplain
to the English factory, asked Berkeley to preach for him one Sunday.
Berkeley complied with the request. On the next day, as he was sit-
ting alone in his chamber, he was surprised and startled by the appari-
tion of a train of surpliced priests, who entered his apartment in
ghostly array, and walked round, muttering some form of prayer or
exorcism, without seeming to notice his presence in any way, and
then walked out again. Berkeley's first apprehensions suggested some
connexion between this solemn visitation and his sermon of the pre-
vious day: it could be, he thought, nothing less than some demonstra-
tion from the inquisition, which must have been informed that he had
preached without license to a heretical congregation. When he

4 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

recovered from his astonishment, he made cautious inquiries, and, to
his great relief, learned that it was the solemn festival set apart for
blessing the houses of all " good catholics" from rats and vermin.

In 1714, he returned with lord Peterborough to England. The fall of
the tory party appeared to terminate all immediate prospects of prefer-
ment; he was, therefore, not dissatisfied at the occurrence of a favour-
able opportunity to extend his travels. The bishop of Clogher, Dr
St George Ashe, proposed to him to accompany his son who wus
heir to a good property, on a tour through Europe.

His stay at Paris is rendered memorable by an incident of some
interest, his interview with the celebrated philosopher Malebranche,
of which, we have to regret, that no detailed account remains.
Malebranche was prominent among the great speculative inquirers of
his age, and held opinions very nearly approaching those of Berkeley's
theory. His opinion that all our volitions and perceptions are produced
by the immediate operation of the divine will working on the frame, ap-
pears by a brief and very obvious train to lead to the inferences of the
non-existence of external things. From this not very sane result, the
French philosopher was deterred by an argument which should have
had a similar influence on Berkeley, whose theory was invented with
a direct view to oppose a scepticism fashionable in his day. Malebranche
justly considered the existence of the external world to be affirmed in
the beginning of Genesis, and, therefore, concluded that the inferences
of speculation could not be carried so far as to deny it: although it is
clear he removed all evidence for it but that supplied by scripture.
When Berkeley paid him a visit, he was labouring under an inflam-
mation of the lungs; and, at the moment, engaged in the preparation
of some medicine, which he was watching as it heated in a small
pipkin on his fire. It was an unfortunate situation for the encounter
of two philosophers, who had such a point of difference to contend for.
Malebranche had become acquainted with Berkeley's theory of the non-
existence of the external world; and immediately entered, with all the
interest of a philosopher, and all the impetuosity of a Frenchman, into
a discussion upon it. Berkeley was soon heated with controversial
ardour; and they who best know the zeal of metaphysical disputation,
will not hesitate to admit the probability, that the trifling considera-
tions of form and circumstance must soon have been forgotten by both
parties in the keen debate. The actual incidents are no further known
than by the event. The French philosopher spoke so much and so
loud, that it brought on a violent increase of his disorder, which car-
ried him off in a few days.

Upwards of four years were, at this period, spent in travelling among
other places, less upon the common track of tourists: he travelled
over Apulia, Calabria, and Sicily. He had collected materials for a
natural history of Sicily; but they were unfortunately lost in the pas-
sage to Naples. Some very curious and interesting sketches of his
visit to Ischia, in the bay of Naples, and a description of an erup-
tion of Vesuvius, which he witnessed, and was enabled to observe very
accurately, have caused his biographer to regret this loss as an injury
to the " literary world." And notwithstanding the bright reflection
which Berkeley's fame, as a metaphysical writer, throws on his country,

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 5

and, still more on his university, we are rather inclined to regret that
his genius had not earlier received a direction favourable to the exercise
of talents with which he was pre-eminently endowed by nature. The
world might have spared those writings which have in no way contri-
buted to human wisdom, and are rather to be regarded as essays and
examples of high intellectual power, than as leading to results, with
perhaps one slight exception, which it will be time enough to notice
when we come to the separate consideration of his writings. There
is a remarkable freshness, vigour, and graphic power about his descrip-
tions of places, and an inquisitiveness of research, which would, with
the addition of his profound intelligence, have given to the world the
most instructive and delightful history of the nature and social pecu-
liarities of the countries and people whom he visited. From the habi-
tual intercourse with realities, his understanding would have acquired
a practical turn, the want of which was his main defect, and with
his universally accomplished, exploring, and enthusiastic mind, he
would have been the Humboldt of his age. There is a singular com-
bination of poetic effect and of accurate observation, in his description
of the island of Inarime, and still more of its ancient mountain, Mons
Epomeus, rising from its centre, and overlooking the scenery of the
^Eneid — " from the promontory of Antium to the cape of Palinurus."
Though we are amused with the enthusiastic simplicity which, after
describing the Arcadian innocence and simplicity of the inhabitants,
who, as they " are without riches and honours, so they are without
the vices and follies that attend them ;" in the very next sentence he
informs us, that " they have got, as an alloy to their happiness, an ill
habit of murdering one another, on slight offences." One is apt to
suspect that the philosopher had in his mind the Arcades ambo of
Horace, rather than the "poetical notions of the golden age;" but
Berkeley's mind is too earnest and high-wrought for the frivolity of
a joke: he immediately after tells his correspondent that " by the sole
secret of minding our own business, we found a means of living safely
among this dangerous people," — a lesson which he might have easily
learned at home. Still more full of interest must have been his descrip-
tions of mount Vesuvius: in his letter to Arbuthnot, in which he
describes three ascents, he says, of the first, " With much difficulty
I reached the top of mount Vesuvius, in which I saw a vast aperture
full of smoke, which hindered the seeing its depth and figure. I heard
within that horrid gulf certain odd sounds, which seemed to proceed
from the belly of the mountain ; a sort of murmuring, sighing, throb-
bing, churning, dashing, as it were, of waves, and, between whiles, a
noise like that of thunder, or cannon, which was constantly attended
with a clattering like that of tiles falling from the tops of houses on
the streets," &c. On this ascent he obtained but imperfect and occa-
sional glimpses of the awful doings below, in that vast and hollow
gulf: a momentary dispersion of the smoke displayed two furnaces,
almost contiguous, throwing up a " very ruddy flame," and vast dis-
charges of red hot stones. On the eighth of May he ascended a second
time, and saw a different aspect of things : the air was calm, and a
column of smoke ascended straight up, so as to leave clearly visible
the boiling and bellowing chasm beneath, in which the two furnaces

6 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

burned more fiercely than on the former day, "throwing up every
three or four minutes, with a dreadful bellowing1, a vast number of red
hot stones — sometimes, in appearance, about a thousand — and at least
three thousand feet higher than my head, as I stood upon the brink."
The other furnace was equally remarkable, in a different way, being
" filled with red hot liquid matter, like that in the furnace of a glass-
house, which raged and wrought as the waves of the sea, causing a
short abrupt noise, like what may be imagined to proceed from a sea
of quicksilver dashing among uneven rocks." Between this ascent
and the twentieth of June, he continued to make excursions in the
vicinity, during which he continued to observe with interest the vary-
ing appearances of the mountain — sometimes pouring from its summit
bright and glittering streams of liquid lava — of which the burning
course was traceable by the " ruddy smoke" which overhung it "along
a huge track of sky." On other nights, a tall column of flame shot up
the heavens, from the smoky height, and disappeared in sudden dark-
ness, after a moment, as if " the jaws of darkness had devoured it."
But on the tenth the scene appears to have put on all its terrors to
attract the imaginative philosopher: he describes its distant sound to
his friend: — " You cannot form a juster idea of this noise, in the most
violent fits of it, than by imagining a mixed sound made up of the
raging of a tempest, the murmur of a troubled sea, and the roaring of
thunder and artillery all together. It was very terrible, as we heard
it in the further end of Naples, at the distance of above twelve miles:
this moved my curiosity to approach the mountain. Three or four of
us got into a boat, and were set ashore at Torre del Greco, a town
situate at the foot of Vesuvius, to the south-west, whence we rode
four or five miles before we came to the burning river, which
was about midnight. The roaring of the volcano grew exceeding
loud and horrible as we approached. I observed a mixture of colours
in the cloud over the crater, — green, yellow, red, and blue ; there was,
likewise, a ruddy dismal light in the air over that tract of land where
the burning river flowed ; ashes continually showered on us all the way
from the seacoast; all which circumstances, set off, and, augmented
by the horror and silence of the night, made a scene the most uncom-
mon and astonishing I ever saw, which grew still more extraordinary
as we came nearer the stream. Imagine a vast torrent of liquid fire
rolling from the top down the side of the mountain, and, with irresis-
tible fury, bearing down and consuming vines, olives, fig-trees, and
houses; in a word, everything that stood in its way. This mighty
flood divided into different channels, according to the inequalities of
the mountain; the largest stream seemed half-a-mile broad at least,
and five miles long. The nature and consistence of these burning
torrents have been described with so much exactness and truth, by
Borellus, in his Latin treatise of mount .ZEtna, that I need say nothing
of it. I walked so far before my companions up the mountain, along
the side of the river of fire, that I was obliged to return in great
haste, the sulphureous stream having surprised me, and almost taken
away my breath. During our return, which was about three o'clock
in the morning, we constantly heard the murmur and groaning of the
mountain, which between whiles would burst out into louder peals,

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 7

throwing up huge spouts of fire and burning stones, which, falling
down again, resembled the stars in our rockets. Sometimes I observed
two, at others three distinct columns of flames ; and sometimes one
vast one, that seemed to fill the whole crater. These burning columns,
and the fiery stones, seemed to be shot one thousand feet perpendicular
above the summit of the volcano." The eruption continued, with
various changes of appearance, until the eighteenth, during which he
continued to watch it with unwearied interest, and to note every inci-
dent that occurred. As may be anticipated, he formed a theory to
account for volcanoes. He supposed a vacuum to be made in the
" bowels of the earth, by a vast body of inflammable matter taking
fire, the water rushed in and was converted into steam ; which simple
cause was sufficient to produce all the wonderful effects of volcanoes —
as appears from Savery's fire-engine for raising water, and from the
jEolipile."* We believe the great question, thus hastily solved, remains
yet to exercise the research and skill of geologists — Whether the vol-
canic elements are directly thrown from the great reservoir of molten
elements far down towards the mass of central heat — or the infusion
of water upon some local accumulation of similar materials, is not, and
perhaps cannot, be ascertained with the certainty of science. Nor can
we here dwell upon a question so far beyond our knowledge.

On his return to England, Berkeley composed, at Lyons, an essay
upon a question proposed by the Royal Academy of Paris. The sub-
ject was on the principle and cause of motion ; the tract is in Latin
in his works: he published it on his arrival in London in 1*721. la
this tract, he arrives with infinite art at the same conclusion which he
had already put forth in his great metaphysical theory .f As we pro-
pose to give the reader a full account of this, it will be unnecessary
to anticipate it here.

From such speculations he was happily diverted, from time to time ;
and at last altogether, by the active benevolence of his disposition.
In 1720, the country sustained great suffering from the South Sea
scheme. Berkeley wrote and published a tract, in which he endeavours
to point out the sources of the national suffering and its remedies. His
discourse displays all the character of a humane and elevated spirit,
with much sound thinking on the general principles of social welfare.
There is, at the same time, perceptible in it, a tone of observation
remote from the actual temper of human life, and a want of perception
of the more detailed workings of society — he soars in a lofty region of
primary truths and general principles, and seems to consider a great
moral reform, and something like a system of sumptuary regulations, to
be the great remedy for the existing evils. And there can, indeed, be
little doubt of the vast accumulation of evils which arise in the social
system, from the intemperance, profligacy, luxury, irreligion, and
immorality; or, in one word, the corruption of society: nor can we
hesitate to agree with Berkeley, that the most beneficial changes would
be the result of a great and general reform. But such statements
have small weight upon the foaming torrent of life ; and this can only

* Clarke's note,
f See from sect. 34. to the end. — Works, 8vo., vol. ii. p. 385.

8 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES.

be derived from a cautious, close, and specific method of applica-
tion, which, having laid down general maxims, pursues them with a
view to the practical and possible. Yet, in a moment of nearly unex-
ampled suffering and terror, it may be assumed, that the national
spirit might be more than usually alive to those impressions which
are mostly so difficult to convey. That a sober and moral tone of
public feeling, and, still more, a due sense of Christianity, from which
such impressions have their best and most legitimate source, ought to
have the good effects implied by Berkeley, we have no doubt, — but
such impressions are the slow growth of time, and only to be
developed from the fullest practical operation of the cause itself. No
reasoning from consequences is, under any circumstances, likely to have
any effect. No one will mend his ways because the nation might be
improved by a general reform. All such expedients begin at the
wrong end.

Shortly after his return, Berkeley was introduced by Pope to the
accomplished earl of Burlington, whose name is so familiar to the
architectural student. Berkeley had himself cultivated this art, and,
during his travels, had become extensively and accurately acquainted
with the best existing specimens, ancient and modern. His knowledge
of the subject, set off as it must have been by his discursive talent and
his ingenuity and enthusiasm, attracted the admiration of the noble
earl, who introduced him with strong encomiums to the duke of Grafton,
then about to come over as lord-lieutenant to Ireland. The duke took
him with him, as chaplain, in 1721, when he had been six years away
from his native country. He had, in the mean time, become a senior
fellow, and now took his degree of doctor in divinity, November 14.

In the next year he obtained a large bequest from Mrs Hester
Vanhomrigh, amounting to about £4,000. We have already had to
state the particulars in our memoir of Swift. It is asserted, on good
authority, that he had only once met this unfortunate lady at dinner.
But he must have been well known to her by reputation; and, besides,
the high admiration which his singularly pure character was likely to
make on one so alive to impressions, many influential causes were not
unlikely to have intervened, though of so slight a nature, as to leave
no record.

In 1724 he was preferred by the duke of Grafton to the deanery of
Derry, on which he resigned his fellowship. The deanery was worth
£1,100 a-year; but the heart of Berkeley was high above the lower
influences of life. The same spirit which impressed him with a notion
that the state of the nation might be bettered by lofty expositions of
general truths, operated on him as a governing influence. While he had
been on his travels, his imagination had been captivated by the splen-
dour and beauty of foreign scenery, — with which he naturally associ-
ated visions of human happiness. The notion of a purer and better
form of society, founded on the perfect basis of Christianity, was a
natural fruit of such a mind, and it became his favourite project. For
him, the factitious splendour and the enervating luxury — the pomp and
vanity, which are so much of life to common minds, were utterly devoid
of charms — in these there was nothing to resign. A course of
conduct, hard to the conception of ordinary mortals, was, with these

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 9

dispositions, natural ; his heart, in which no sordid feeling1 had place,
was filled with the lofty and holy design of " converting the savage
Americans to Christianity, by a college to be erected in the Summer
Islands, otherwise called the isles of Bermuda." We shall offer no
extracts from the proposal which he published on the occasion; because,
as was to be expected from one of his earnest and sincere temper, the
reasons, which he would himself feel the weight of, are all obvious
enough. It is not until a man doubts the efficacy of the main reasons,
that he will think it necessary to look for new and deep arguments
for the recommendation of good deeds. A poem, otherwise of no
value, will offer some view of the impressions of his own mind.

The muse, disgusted at an age and clime,
Barren of every glorious theme,
In distant lands now waits a better time,
Producing subjects worthy fame.

In happy climes where, from the genial sun
And virgin earth, such scenes ensue,
The force of art, by nature seems outdone,
And fancied beauties by the true.

In happy climes — the seat of innocence,
Where nature guides, and virtue rules ;
Where man shall not impose, for truth and sense,
The pedantry of courts and schools.

There shall be sung another golden age,
The rise of empire and of arts,
The good and great inspiring epic rage
The wisest heads and noblest hearts.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay,
Such as she bred when fresh and young,
When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
By future poets shall be sung.

Westward, the course of empire takes its way,
The four first acts already past ;
A fifth shall close the drama with the day,
Time's noblest offspring is the last.

To this testimony of Berkeley's muse, we shall here add dean
Swift's very remarkable letter to lord Carteret, 1724: —

" There is a gentleman of this kingdom gone for England, — it is
Dr George Berkeley, dean of Derry ; the best preferment among us,
being worth £1,100 a-year. He takes the Bath in his way to London, and
will, of course, attend your excellency, and be presented, I suppose,
by his friend, lord Burlington; and because I believe you will choose
out some very idle minutes to read this letter, perhaps you may not be
ill entertained with some account of the man, and his errand. He
was a fellow of the university here, and, going to England very young,
about thirteen years ago, he became the founder of a sect there called
the immaterialists, by the force of a very curious book upon the sub-
ject. Dr Smaleridge, and many other eminent persons, were his
proselytes. I sent him secretary and chaplain to Sicily with my lord
Peterborough; and, upon his lordship's return, Dr Berkeley spent

10 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

above seven years in travelling1 over most parts of Europe, but chiefly
through every corner of Italy, Sicily, and other islands. When he
came back to England, he found so many friends that he was effec-
tually recommended to the duke of Grafton, by whom he was lately
made dean of Derry. Your excellency will be frighted when I tell
you all this is but an introduction, for I am now to mention his
errand. He is an absolute philosopher with regard to money, titles,
and power ; and, for three years past, has been struck with a notion of
founding a university at Bermudas, by a charter from the crown. He
has seduced several of the hopefullest young clergymen, and others
here, many of them well provided for, and all of them in the fairest
way of preferment ; but, in England, his conquests are greater, and, I
doubt, will spread very far this winter. He showed me a little tract
which he designs to publish, and there your excellency will see his
whole scheme of a life academico-philosophical, — I shall make you
remember what you were, — of a college founded for Indian scholars
and missionaries, where he most exorbitantly proposes a whole £100
a-year for himself, £40 for a fellow, and £10 for a student. His
heart will break if his deanery be not taken from him, and left to -
your excellency's disposal. I discouraged him by the coldness of
courts and ministers, who will interpret all this as impossible, and a
vision; but nothing will do. And, therefore, I do humbly entreat
your excellency either to use such persuasions as will keep one of the
first men in this kingdom, for learning and virtue, quiet at home, or
assist him by your credit to compass this romantic design ; which,
however, is very noble and generous, and directly proper for a great
person of your excellent education to encourage."

It would not, indeed, in the records of eminent men, be easy to find
a parallel instance, in which a genuine and devoted regard to the higher
and truer interests of mankind appears unadulterated with any of those
baser elements which it is seldom difficult to detect in all human con-
duct. The love of money, " the root of all evil," did not, even in its
least degree, adulterate the fervent charity that offered to relinquish
£1,100 a-year for a salary of £100. Ambition seeks to sun itself
in the smile of public life, and the sunshine of courts ; but these
allurements were as remote from the savage nature of the Summer
Isles, as from a conventual cell. In adopting such a speculation,
Berkeley resigned the pomps and vanities of earth, and elected a noble
course of self-devotion to the good of mankind and the service of
God, at the moment that fame, wealth, and preferment, were unfolding
the most splendid prospects. The dean of Derry, with the universal
favour and growing reputation of Berkeley, might well expect the
utmost elevation of which his calling admitted. Nor to those who have
rightly estimated the intellectual aspirations of a mind so speculative,
will it be much to affirm, that the exchange of philosophical leisure
for ardent practical labour in the cause of human welfare, indicates
the vigour of the sentiments by which it was dictated. If these con-
siderations be duly entertained, there is a singular interest in the
contemplation of the long continued and strenuous exertions which
Berkeley made for this strange plan of self-resignation. It is also not
without interest to notice the effect of such a character in communi-

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 11

eating1 its warmth — three junior fellows in Trinity college entered
with zeal into the scheme, and consented to exchange their hard-won
prospects of independence for £40 a-year, and settlements in the Sum-
mer Isles.

To raise funds for his project, Berkeley sent a proposal to the king1,
George I., stating the value of certain lands in the island of St
Christopher's, which were then about to be sold by government, and
proposed that the proceeds of the sale might be applied to the founda-
tion and building of his college. This was conveyed to the king by
the Abbe Gualtiere, an eminent Venetian, with whom Berkeley had
formed an intimacy during his travels. The king laid his commands
on Walpole to introduce and conduct the proposal through the com-
mons, and granted a charter for its institution, by the name of St
Paul's college. The fate of this proceeding may be partly followed
out by extracts from those letters in which it was mentioned by
Berkeley. The college was to consist of a president and nine fellows,
at £100, and £40, per annum, respectively, and to educate the Indians
at the rate of £10 per scholar. The first president and fellows were
to retain their preferments in England, or Ireland, for a year and a
half from the date of their arrival in Bermuda. The matter was
accordingly moved in the house of commons; and, on the llth May,
1726, a vote was carried, " That an humble address be presented to
his majesty, that out of the lands in St Christopher's, yielded by
France to Great Britain by the treaty of Utrecht, his majesty would
be graciously pleased to make such grant for the use of the presi-
dent and fellows of the college of St Paul's in Bermuda, as his majesty
shall think proper." The king answered favourably, and £20,000
were promised by Walpole, in advance, on the security of the expected
grant.

While matters were in this state, Berkeley married Miss Anne
Forster, eldest daughter to the speaker of the Irish house of commons.
This marriage occurred, 1st August, 1728, and, on the following
month, he sailed with his wife for Rhode Island. He was also accom-
panied by a Mr Smilert, an artist; two gentlemen of fortune, Messrs
James and Dalton; and a young lady of the name of Hancock. He
had also raised a considerable sum of money from means or property
of his own, and brought out a considerable library. It was his design
to purchase what lands he could, on the nearest part of the continent,
for the endowment of the new university ; and these were to be paid
for from the grant which he was assured should be forthcoming, so
soon as the lands were selected, and the agreement completed for
them. He took up his residence at Newport in Rhode Island, where
he continued two years; during which time he occupied himself in
preaching for the clergyman there.

From the correspondence of Berkeley with Prior, it first appears with
what cost and exertion the charter had been obtained. By the time
it had passed all the offices, it had cost him £130 in fees, "besides
expedition-money to men in office." He was, at the same time,
encumbered with some obstacles and delays about Miss Vanhomrigh's
bequest, which appear to have been managed for him by Prior, and,
after urging him to increased exertion, he adds — " I thank God I

12 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

find in matters of a more difficult nature, good effects of activity and
resolution, — I mean Bermuda, with which my hands are full, and
which seems likely to thrive and flourish in spite of all opposition." On
May 12th, 1726, he alludes to the debate in the house of commons, in
which none spoke against his motion but two mercantile men ; and,
among other incidents of the question, he mentions, that the fear enter-
tained by the mercantile interest was, lest America might become
independent by the advance of civilization.

We have already noticed the discrepancy which has often been
found to exist between the motives of public bodies, and those by
which individuals are governed, — a phenomenon of frequent occur-
rence, which it is not necessary to explain by the assumption of any
degree of private corruption or baseness ; though such, in numerous
cases, will afford the most adequate explanations. But the too
prevalent disposition to impute low motives must be, in some mea-
sure, checked by a consideration of some prevalence ; though by no
means so easily comprehended. Prudence, discretion, and the sense
of personal responsibility, are the prevalent influences which favour
the private counsels of the individuals ; while the man, who is but one
of the aggregate, and divested of these in proportion to the number with
whom the weight of division is to be shared, is more accessible in
nearly the same proportion to those more liberal, generous, or disin-
terested views, which eloquence, or the imposition of circumstances
may call forth, and which all are disposed to indulge in at no cost.
Hence splendid schemes of good will excite a public enthusiasm
sufficient to deceive a single-minded being, who, like Berkeley,
is ever ready to see the conduct and professions of mankind through
the light of his own spirit. He thought all difficulties over in a single
stage of his proceedings, when no person could have said or done other-
wise than to approve of a measure, the advantages of which could not
be denied, on any public ground, without first advancing reasons which
would be both unpopular and untrue. But, on the part of practical
politicians, (too generally men of a very inferior range of knowledge
and views,) no large or decided plan for the promotion of human wel-
fare, unconnected with some immediate interest, was likely to be
sincerely entertained. To men like Walpole the Summer Island scheme
was a chimera of speculation, and its author an amiable visionary:
£20,000 was a serious outlay on a dream of Utopia ; and, to an expe-
rienced observer of the world, its frustration might have been predicted.
To Berkeley's simplicity, the address of the house was a decisive inci-
dent: the opposition of the council, which was silenced, and apparently
set at rest by it, went for nothing. Everything seemed for awhile to
prosper ; meetings and conferences were held to adjust the manner of
the grant, and the legal difficulties were easily obviated. It was
arranged to settle it by a rent-charge payable on the whole lands,
redeemable on the crown paying £20,000 for the use of the president
and fellows of the college of St Paul, and their successors. As the
time drew nigh, Berkeley expressed great anxiety to pass three months
in perfect seclusion, in some lodging near Dublin, and the reasons are
not explained; but it may possibly have been to avoid the press and
interruptions of society, while he transacted the necessary prelimi-

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 13

naries with his associates. His position was at least peculiar enough
to make such interruptions peculiarly troublesome and jarring. The
death of George I., for a moment, threw a passing cloud over his san-
guine impatience, — the broad seal had not been annexed to the grant, —
a new warrant had to be made out, — and several tedious delays had
to be encountered. These delays were overcome, and, in February,
he writes to Prior, "I need not repeat to you what I told you here, of
the necessity there is for my raising all the money possible against
my voyage, which, God willing, I shall begin in May, whatever you
may hear suggested to the contrary." At last, in September, he
writes, " To-morrow, with God's blessing, I set sail for Rhode Island
with my wife and a friend of her's, my lady Hancock's daughter, who
bears us company. I am married since I saw you to Miss Forster,
daughter of the late chief-justice, whose humour and turn of mind
pleases me beyond anything I knew in her whole sex." He then
mentions that he shall want £300 before the income of his deanery
was to become due. His next communication is a letter from New-
port, in Rhode Island, in the April of the year 1729. He, at some
length, describes the place, and mentions that the inhabitants consisted
of a great variety of sects, each of which allowed the church of Eng-
land to be the " second best." He expressed strong anxiety about the
punctuality of his remittances, but does not yet appear to entertain any
misgivings about the good faith of the government. His friends had
gone to live at Boston, while he and his own immediate family, pre-
ferring domestic quiet to the bustle and noise of cities, lived on a small
estate which he had purchased. " Among my delays and disappoint-
ments," he says, on March, 1730, " I have two domestic comforts that
are very agreeable — my wife and son — both which exceed my expec-
tations, and answer all my wishes." On May 7, 1730, he writes, "I
must tell you that I have no intention of continuing in these parts, but to
settle the college his majesty hath been pleased to found in Bermuda,
and I want only the payment of the king's grant to transport myself
and family thither." He adds, that his friend Dr Clayton was at
the time engaged by his desire to negotiate, and that he had written
directions to him to go to the treasury, with the letters patent in his
hands, and there make the demand in form." He goes on, " I have
wrote to others to use their interest at court; though, indeed, one
would have thought all solicitation at an end, when once I had obtained
a grant under his majesty's hand, and the broad seal of England. As
to my going to London, and soliciting in person, I think it reasonable
first to see what my friends can do ; and the rather because I have
small hopes that my solicitations will be regarded more than theirs.
Be assured I long to know the upshot of this matter; and that, upon
an explicit refusal, I am determined to return home, and that it is not
at all in my thoughts to continue abroad and hold my deanery. It is
well known to many persons in England that I might have had a dis-
pensation for holding it in long absence during life, and that I was
much pressed to it; but I resolutely declined it: and if our college
had taken place as soon as I once hoped it would, I should have
resigned before this time." After some further remarks of the same

14 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

general purport, he goes on to mention, " I have been at great expense
in purchasing land and stock here, which might supply the defects of
Bermuda in yielding those provisions to our college, the want of which
was made a principal objection against its situation in that island."
Among other things, it appears that letters took, in general, at the
least, half-a-year, and oftener twice that time, in reaching him
from Ireland. Talking of himself and his wife, who had at the time
sustained a miscarriage, he says, " Our little son is great joy to us:
we are such fools as to think him the most perfect thing in its kind
that we ever saw."

It is mentioned by Dr Clarke that the settlement of affairs respect-
ing the will of Miss Vanhomrigh with his joint executor, Mr Marshal,
and with a Mr Vanhomrigh, involved Berkeley at this time in great
trouble. From the extracts which Dr Clarke has given from his let-
ters to Prior on the subject, it appears that, while all sorts of delay
were caused by the refractory temper of Mr Vanhomrigh, the whole
creditors of the testatrix were importunately pushing their claims.
One of these extracts will serve our purpose here, " November 12,
1726. — I have sent to you so often for certain eclaircissemens, which
are absolutely necessary to settle matters with the creditors, who
importune me to death, you have no notion of the misery I have
undergone, and do daily undergo on that account. For God's sake,
pray disentangle these matters, that I may once be at ease to mind my
other affairs of the college, which are enough to employ ten persons."
He mentions in the same letter, " I have spent here a matter of £600
more than you know of, for which I have not yet drawn over."

Berkeley, in this interval, had exerted himself with all the vigour
of his mind and body to bring the projected plan to a completion. At
last all the arrangements were effected, and nothing remained but to
give effect to the agreements he had entered into, by the necessary
payments. But in this lay an obstacle not to be surmounted by
industry, talent, and enthusiasm. Walpole had, from the first, been
unfavourably inclined to the project; and it was probably by the
exertion of his influence that the money which had been allotted for
the grant was turned to some other use. The lands sold in St Chris-
topher's brought £90,000; of this £80,000 went to pay the portion of
the princess royal; the rest was obtained by general Oglethorpe for
his new colony in America. Bishop Gibson, on Berkeley's part,
applied to Sir Robert Walpole, and at last received the following
answer: — " If you put this question to me as a minister, I trust, and
can assure you, that the money shall most undoubtedly be paid as soon
as suits with public convenience; but if you ask me as a friend
whether dean Berkeley should continue in America, expecting the
payment of £20,000, I advise him, by all means, to return home to
Europe, and to give up his present expectations." This plain speaking
had the effect of exposing to Berkeley the entire futility of the depend-
ence on which he had thrown away so much good money and irretriev-
able time; and, after seven years of vain labour and expectation, he pre-
pared for his return. He distributed his books among the clergy of
Rhode Island, and was soon on his way to London. When he arrived

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D,, BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 15

there, his first act was the repayment of the various subscriptions he
had received for the advancement of his plan. It was in the interval
immediately succeeding his return that he composed the most useful of
his writings — the Minute Philosopher; in which he adopted the ancient
method of the Socratic and Platonic dialogue, of which he gives the
happiest example known in modern literature; and follows all the
windings of scepticism through the different fields of fallacy, in which
it has taken refuge at different times, according to the state of
human opinion and knowledge; or, as Clarke writes, pursuing the
" freethinker through the various characters of atheist, libertine,
enthusiast, scorner, critic, metaphysician, fatalist, and sceptic; and
very happily employs against him several new weapons drawn from
the storehouse of his own ingenious system of philosophy." We cannot,
indeed, agree with Dr Clarke in attaching any value to arguments
drawn from a system of philosophy so baseless as that of Berkeley ;
but on this we must reserve our comment.

We have already had occasion to give some account of the court
of the princess of Wales, and of her love for the society of the learned.
Berkeley had the good fortune to hold a place in her esteem; and it is
mentioned that Clarke and he were the principal persons in the dis-
cussions which frequently arose on those days which were devoted by
her highness to these learned colloquies. Berkeley had indeed good
need for all his ability to support his character for discretion and
common sense, against some unfavourable impressions occasioned by
his Bermuda scheme. The world is so deeply in earnest about its own
peculiar pursuits, and so careless about those beyond them, that, while
it theoretically assents to the importance of the latter, it yet commits
the singular fallacy of treating them as fiction; and, so far is this
practical inconsistency carried, that the few who are in full earnest in
spiritual concerns, and who act on the principle of their reality, will,
to some extent, be looked on as visionary, by the dull-headed and
carnal-hearted crowd that verbally and formally admits what it practi-
cally rejects. Berkeley, whose simplicity and singleness of mind only
followed out the principles of a Christian divine, in a plan for the good
of mankind, obtained the character of a visionary among the formal,
sensual, and worldly-minded. And it is curious to observe that his
really visionary speculations had no share in this ; for the true province
of human reason was yet too little understood. Such contemporaries
as Clarke, and such successors as David Hume, amply indicate the
error of the age, and show that philosophy was yet in its cradle.
Though he was singularly disposed by nature for visionary speculation,
Berkeley, in this respect, only took the bent of the time; his admirable
ingenuity was the gift of nature, and his own. In the discussions to
which we have adverted, it is mentioned that bishop Hoadly mostly
took part with Clarke, while Sherlocke took Berkeley's side: when
the " Minute Philosopher " was printed, he took it to the queen, and
suggested that such a work could not be the production of one who
possessed an unsound mind.

With the queen he soon became a favourite, and his preferment
was a determined point. Neither was he long kept in suspense; though

16 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

a disappointment was the first result, it was only the means of secur-
ing his further elevation. The deanery of Down fell vacant, and he
was named to succeed to it; but the duke of Dorset is said to have
taken offence at such a step having been taken without his concur-
rence, and it was thought proper not to press the nomination. The
queen, however, at once declared that if they would not suffer Dr
Berkeley to be dean (this, however, he already was) in. Ireland, he
should be a bishop. She kept her promise. In 1736 Cloyne fell
vacant, and he was, by letters patent, dated March 17th, in that year,
preferred to that see; and in the May following he was consecrated
in Dublin, at St Paul's church, by the archbishop of Cashell, with the
bishops of Raphoe and Killaloe.

This account, which is that of the biographer from whom our
main materials are drawn, is yet, in some slight particulars at variance
with the account contained in the bishop's letters written upon the
same occasion, though it is to be admitted that the difference may be
but apparent, and consequent upon the different aspect in which the
facts appeared at different times. By the bishop's account the recom-
mendation came from the duke of Dorset, who was probably, never-
theless, but a consenting party to the wishes of the queen. The
following is an extract from the letter written by Berkeley upon the
occasion: — "January 22, 1734. — On the 5th instant the duke sent
over his plan, wherein I was recommended to the bishoprick of
Cloyne: 011 the 14th I received a letter from the secretary's office,
signifying his majesty having immediately complied therewith, and
containing the duke of Newcastle's very obliging compliment there-
upon. In all this I was nothing surprised, his grace the lieutenant
having declared, on this side the water, that he intended to serve me
the first opportunity; though, at the same time, he desired me to say
nothing of it. As to the A. B. D., (archbishop of Dublin, Dr Hoadly,)
I readily believe he gave no opposition. He knew it would be to no
purpose, and the queen herself had expressly enjoined him not to
oppose me," &c. After which, he says, " Notwithstanding all of
which I had a strong penchant to be dean of Dromore, and not to take
the charge of a bishoprick upon me. Those who formerly opposed
my being dean of Down have thereby made me a bishop; which rank,
however desirable it may seem, I had before absolutely determined to
keep out of."

Cloyne was let for £1,200 per annum at the time, and had a
demesne of 800 acres to the see house. With this accession of wealth
and dignity came, as if by virtue of a title, the gout, which paid its
first visit in the beginning of February, about ten days after his
appointment, and the bishop received the ordinary congratulations on
both incidents together. " With my feet lapped up in flannels, and
raised on a cushion, I received the visits of my friends, who congratu-
lated me on this occasion as much as on my preferment."

The charges of his see were so considerable as much to diminish
the immediate benefit of his promotion; and, upon the whole, he cal-
culated that, after satisfying demands of every kind, his income
would be less than £1,000 per annum.

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 17

We may pass the slight circumstances attendant on his removal to
Cloyne. He received many recommendations from friends or persons
in power, of those upon whom they wished that his patronage should be
bestowed. To these he resolved to pay no attention, but to confine
his services of that description to " ingenuity, learning, and good
qualities."

His time, and that of his household, appears to have been divided
and disposed to produce the greatest amount both of profit and plea-
sant recreation. He rose at a very early hour, and summoned his
family to a lesson on the bass viol, from an Italian, whom he retained
for the purpose. The still more suitable devotion of the morning, in
the house of a Christian prelate, cannot have been neglected, though
not considered unusual enough to be recorded by his biographer.
From that his day was spent in study. Of his ordinary avocations at
Cloyne, a few incidental notices occur, from time to time, in his cor-
respondence, which is, however, mostly engrossed by matters which
were then of more importance, though now of far less. We easily
ascertain that he gave time, thought, and money, for the health and
comfort of the poor in his diocese, and took a leading part in every
plan of utility. There were vast numbers of the peasantry carried off
by a fatal epidemic, in 1741, and the bishop was active in his endeav-
ours to mitigate the evil. He was no less attentive to the public
interests in every question which attracted attention by its weight;
and the fruits are yet to be found in several compositions to be found
among his works.

He had no desire to advance his circumstances by change. In 1747,
when the primacy became vacant, and several of the bishops were
earnestly advancing their claims, he was strongly urged to make ap-
plication for himelf ; but this he resolutely refused. We extract a few
lines from one of his letters : — " I am no man's rival or competitor in
this matter. I am not in love with feasts, and crowds, and visits, and
late hours, and strange faces, and a hurry of affairs often insignificant.
For my own private satisfaction, I had rather be master of my time
than wear a diadem." Another letter to the same correspondent, says,
" As to what you say, that the primacy would have been a glorious thing
— for my part, I do not see, all things considered, the glory of wearing
the name of a primate in these days, or of getting so much money — a
thing every tradesman in London may get, if he pleases — I should not
choose to be primate, in pity to my children." About the same time
an article was inserted in the public papers, which, being also found
among the bishop's papers, and seeming to relate incidents of his his-
tory, has been attributed to him. It was written upon the recent
shocks of an earthquake, felt in London, and is remarkable for the
narration of several curious particulars, communicated to the writer in
Catania, by count Fezzani, who was witness, and a sufferer in the
frightful earthquake which destroyed that place, and more than three-
fourths of its population, in 1692. Of these one may be here men-
tioned. " The count was dug out of the ruins of his own house, which
had overwhelmed about twenty persons, — only seven whereof got out

VOL. V. B

18 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

alive. Though he rebuilt his house with all its former accommodations,
yet he ever after lay in a small adjoining apartment, made of reeds
plastered over. Catania was rebuilt more regular and beautiful than
ever: the houses, indeed, are lower, and the streets broader than
before, for security against future shocks. By their account, the first
shock seldom or never doth the mischief; but the repiiche, as they
term them, are to be dreaded."

In July, 1746, we ascertain that Berkeley's picture was painted by
his wife, and sent as a present to Prior. The bishop thus mentions it:
" It is an offering of the first-fruits of her painting. She began to
draw in last November, and did not stick to it closely, but by way of
amusement, only at leisure hours. For my part, I think she shows a
most uncommon genius ; but others may be supposed to judge more
impartially than I. My two younger children are beginning to employ
themselves in the same way. In short, here are two or three families in
Imokilly bent on painting ; and I wish it was more general among the
ladies and idle people, as a thing that may divert the spleen, improve
the manufactures, and increase the wealth of the nation. We will
endeavour to profit by our lord-lieutenant's advice, and kindle up new
arts with a spark of his public spirit." The picture here mentioned,
after Mr Prior's death, in 1751, went into the possession of the Rev.
Mr Arehdal, of Dublin, and is now, we believe, the same which hangs
in the hall of the university of Dublin. From these, and some further
notices among these letters, it is evident that, in addition to what
active and useful benevolence maintained in the external economy and
occupations of the bishop and his household, their hours of domestic
leisure were filled by pursuits of improvement, and ruled by cultivated
taste. We also trace in such notices the first impulses of the school of
British art, at the same time, or soon after, beginning to arise, when,
in the following reign, our countryman Barry, with West and Reynolds,
Wilson and Gainsborough, led the van, and dispelled the reproach of
English genius. Similar interest appears also to have been taken in the
cultivation of music. Considerable efforts were made to procure the
best instruments, among which the bass viol seems to have occupied a
principal share of the bishop's care. A musical teacher was taken into
the family, to instruct all the children; so that, as the bishop wrote,
they were " preparing to fill my house with harmony at all events," —
Mrs Berkeley adding to her other accomplishments that of song, and,
in her husband's opinion, " inferior to no singer in the kingdom."
In a letter of invitation to Mr Gervais, he says, " Courtiers you will
here find none, and but such virtuosi as the country affords — I mean
in the way of music, for that is at pi*esent the reigning passion at
Cloyne. To be plain, we are musically mad."

In those portions of the bishop's correspondence which we have
seen, there is transfused the happiest vein of all the best affections of
human nature, combined with an easy and graceful wit, and a polished
refinement of thought and style, hardly to be found united in the same
degree, in any other letters we can recollect. Altogether, they help
us to conceive the quiet flow of a well-employed, peaceful, and refined

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 19

state of life; and the charm of the serene vale of Cloyne, with which
the philosophic bishop was so enamoured, that, in 1 745, he refused the
offer from lord Chesterfield, of an exchange for Clogher, which would
have doubled his income.

From time to time he continued to write and publish pamphlets on
various topics of public concern, which had very considerable effect.
His Queries were printed in 1735; a Discourse addressed to Magis-
trates, in 1736; Maxims concerning Patriotism, in 1750; all, now col-
lected in his works, remain memorials of his wisdom and zeal for the
public good.

In 1744, was published his celebrated treatise on the Virtues of Tar-
water, under the title of Siris. It is remarkable for the proof it con-
tains of vast and various knowledge, and of a curious and imaginative
intellect. Commencing with tar-water, he ascends, by a connected
series of reflections, to the utmost reach of thought.

In 1752, he put into execution a design which had for many years
occupied his mind. As his health began to give way to a sedentary
habit, unsuited to his robust frame of body, and his enjoyments began
more to depend on the communion of learned society; and when, per-
haps, he began to feel a sense of diminished capability for the import-
ant duties of his station, a wish began to grow for the retirement of
a university. To such a mode of existence he always had a strong
inclination, The entry of his son in Oxford university, seems to have
given the determining impulse to his resolution. He had, indeed,
fallen into a very distressing state of health ; a colic which " rendered
life a burthen to him" for a time, had given way to sciatica; and when
he landed in England he was compelled to travel in a horse-litter to
Oxford.

As he was deeply sensible of the obligations of a bishop to his dio-
cese, he endeavoured to obtain an exchange for some canonry at Ox-
ford. When that failed, he wrote to the secretary of state for leave
to resign his bishopric. The king was astonished at so unusual
a petition; he declared that Berkeley should die a bishop in spite
of himself, but gave permission that he might reside wherever he
pleased.

The last act of Berkeley on leaving Cloyne was, to sign a lease of
the demesne lands of the see, in the neighbourhood of his dwelling,
for £200 per annum, of which he directed the distribution among
the poor housekeepers of Cloyne, Youghal, and Aghadoe, till his
return.

His residence in Oxford was not long. On Sunday evening, Jan.
14, 1753, as he was sitting among his family, and engaged in listen-
ing to a sermon of Sherlock's, which Mrs Berkeley was reading to
him, he expired so quietly that the fact was not perceived till some
time after, when his daughter approached to hand him a cup of tea,
and perceived that he was insensible. On further examination, he was
found to be cold and stiff. The disease is stated by his biographer to
have been a palsy of the heart.

He was interred in Christ Church, Oxford, and a marble monument
erected by Mrs Berkeley, for which an inscription was written by Dr

20 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

Markham, the head master of Winchester, and afterwards archbishop
of York. It is as follows : —

Gravissimo prsesuli
Georgio, Episcopo Clonensi :

Viro,

Seu ingenii et eruditionis laudem,

Seu probitatis <fe beneficentise spectemus

In primes omnium aetatnm numerando.

Si Christianus fueris,

Si amans patrise,
Utroque nomine gloriari potcs

Berkleium vixisse.

Obiit annum agens Septuagesimum tertium :

Natus anno Ghristi M.DC.LXXIX.

Anna Conjux

L. 11. P.

There is, it is observable, an error of ten years in the statement of
his age. Having been born in March, 1684, he died in January,
1753, which gives nearly 69 years of age at his death.

The moral character of Berkeley, if not sufficiently indicated in the
foregoing memoir, is universally known to all who take any interest
in literary history.

He is described as " a handsome man, with a countenance full of
meaning and benignity; remarkable for great strength of limbs ; and,
till his sedentary life impaired it, of a very robust constitution."

It remains to offer some account of his principal writings, which
must always fix his place high among that class who have taken
to themselves the title of philosophers.

The estimate of Berkeley, as a metaphysical writer, is attended
with those difficulties which must needs belong to questions which
have no real data, and on which human opinion and subtlety can be
exercised without limit. To see his intellectual character rightly, and
to form some estimate of the tendencies so strongly and curiously dis-
played in his most eminent compositions, it may be useful to keep in
view the peculiarities already pointed out in this memoir; his disposi-
tion to reject the conventions and received notions of society, and to
turn, with fearless, but not always prudent or fortunate independence,
to seek new methods and inferences for himself. This tendency,
common, we are inclined to suspect, to a large class of reasoners, is
pre-eminently characteristic of Berkeley. With the keenest percep-
tion of logical fallacy, he was, in some measure, the slave, rather than
the master, of a boundless ingenuity in the invention of reasons: all
that could be said for or against any opinion which it was his will, or
which he considered it fit and right to maintain, and contest, seems to
have been before him. But, far less sagacious in selecting than in
maintaining, it depended on the previous truth or fallacy of his pro-
position whether his reasoning was to be just or the contrary. To the
result, his understanding appears comparatively indifferent; in the
selection of data, not scrupulous; but, in the chain of intermediate
reasoning, he is perhaps unmatched. The subtlety, the invention, and

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 21

intellectual daring, which rendered him a formidable opponent to all
other sophists, were always ready to betray himself into error. Upon
the whole, he affords a remarkable instance of the danger of maintaining
truth by those weapons which have usually been employed in the pro-
pagation of error — a range of subtlety and specious invention which
are not fit to be employed upon realities that, so far as human appre-
hension can go, are too gross and palpable for such nice and insub-
stantial instruments.

Of these remarks, Berkeley's philosophical writings offer the very
aptest examples. We shall begin with some notice of his celebrated
immaterial theory; but for this, (according to our view of the ques-
tion,) a brief digression is required.

The origin of the entire class of reasoners among which Berkeley
is to be numbered, may, perhaps, be referred to the conception of a
pure intellectual science, by which mind and its laws might be reduced
to a system reasoned out from assumed definitions, as in geometry.
This at least will, for the present, serve our purpose, as it is involved,
as a primary assumption, in the whole theories of Berkeley, Hume, &c. ;
and is a very main consideration often essential to the tracing of their
errors and fallacies.

Mr Locke, who, in point of fact, is the great antagonist of all meta-
physical assumptions, and who, in his attempts to reason from observa-
tion alone, fell into some errors of method, which were in a measure
incidental to such a (then) daring innovation; justly estimating the im-
portance of unambiguous language as an instrument of communication,
failed to notice and guard against the error which was then, and
is still, liable to result from the use of definitions, in an inquiry upon a
subject so little known as that upon which he was engaged. To define
the fundamental assumption on which a theory is to be constructed,
as in pure geometry, is an essential law of right reason; but in the
a posteriori road to the analysis of existing facts, it is a most prepos-
terous inversion of the only available process: this must begin by
the observation of actual phenomena, which are the only admissible
principles. In metaphysical science, the definition must be the end
not the beginning; and it is to be observed, by the way, that all the
vague and inconclusive writing of this entire class of writers since
Locke, has arisen from their anxiety upon the subject of a precise
nomenclature. To the distinct notice of such an error, there was in
fact nothing to lead Mr Locke — he did not himself fall into it, but he
did not guard against it, and his followers were misled by an imagined
precedent. It had, till his time, been the universal custom to define
for the purpose of theory — he defined, but it was only for clearness;
and the consequence has unhappily been confusion. But, in Mr
Locke's reasonings no error was thus incurred; because, in fact, he
did not make any use of the definition thus laid down, but proceeded
to exercise his sagacity upon phenomena alone.

He was soon followed by a succession of genuine metaphysicians, who,
for the most part, misunderstood his language so far as it had direct
meaning, and adopted his error as a foundation for their researches.
His definition of a simple idea, false in terms, was not so in the
intent of Mr Locke. While he availed himself of it no further than

22 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

it was true, they seized upon it in its verbal sense, in which it was a
most extravagant assumption, and followed it out with a fidelity irre-
spective of facts, which, as it were, stared them in the face.

Mr Locke has, we should observe, been subsequently mistaken by
both critics and students, who were far from falling- into the errors of
Berkeley and Hume. Of these all have agreed that his definition is
erroneous; but many have committed the oversight of insisting that
he meant the error it contains, because the same error frequently
appears involved in his language; while some, very justly, if they
went but a little further — have observed that this language is fre-
quently inconsistent. »

But such was the result of having an unguarded definition, and a
loose language, while not a single stage of his reasoning ever depended
on either, but upon a very close observation of the intellectual pheno-
mena. It was only that he might be understood that he defined; but,
not designing any system constructed out of his use of words, he ne-
glected to perceive to what consequences his definitions exposed him.
And to those who are under the impression that he meant more than
is here assigned, we must suggest that, although he obviously endeav-
ours to use the same words in the same sense, yet he never, in any
one instance, attempts to theorize upon this definition. From this de-
finition, indeed, the consequences are so plain, that it must have led him
very much into Berkeley's view. How then is it — it may be asked —
that Locke has fallen into an error seemingly so gross? We think it
obviously thus : the elementary phenomena of the mind are, so far as we
know them, more simple than any thing or fact by which they can be
explained — they can be referred to no genus, and cannot be defined.
The attempt involves some assumption for which there can be no
warrant, and therefore involves some theory which is unlikely to
be true, and impossible to prove.

But Locke actually did not intend a logical definition — he fell into
such, inadvertently, in the attempt to give a meaning. This was the
process of his mind. As this book is to be about ideas, I must begin
by telling what I mean by an idea; for, though it is a word which
every person of common sense understands very well, yet the philo-
sophers, whose extreme penetration is too great to understand any-
thing, may, as they have done, object or assign some scholastic sense,
conformable with old theories. By an idea, I mean no more than the
thought which passes through the mind when thinking, whatever it may
be; that is to say, the object of the mind in thinking. This unhappy
periphrasis for the word thought was liable to an obvious construc-
tion, by simply turning an idiom of speech into scientific precision.
Had Locke said, " the act of the mind when thinking, or the state, or
process," this error would have been escaped, though other fallacies
might have been devised by human ingenuity. But it was easy to see
that this object of the mind must be something distinct from the mind
itself, and it was easy to prove it to be distinct from any external
thing.

But let us now turn to the consequences deduced by Berkeley from
this fruitful error.
. Jf a simple idea is the object perceived by the mind, and if it can

PERIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE. 23

be shown that it has no ascertainable relation to the external thing1 of
which it is the supposed representative, it becomes plain that there is
no certain evidence of the real existence of the thing of which such
uncertain representations are thus presented to the mind. In this point
the entire of Berkeley's argument will be found. Among the various
fallacies which are comprised in it, besides that which we have
noticed at length, there are others also worth observation. Were we
to grant the unwarrantable definition, the argument, at most, but goes
to prove what should in common sense have been seen at the outset,
that the actual existence of external things cannot be demonstrated
from the mere fact of our perceptions. Of this Berkeley had a full
sense ; and, consequently, his conclusion is afterwards stated by himself
to be, not that the external world does not exist, but that we have no
direct perception of its existence, and that this existence is in the
mind of God, in which we perceive it, — that is to say, that those
ideas which are the actual objects of the mind in thinking, are ideas
in the mind of God.

Now, it is curious with what narrow precision Berkeley has, in the
course of this argument, excluded on every side every portion of fact
which did not suit his reasoning. For, granting the idea to be a dis-
tinct object, still, those very variations of appearance, and that want
of unchanging coincidence between the idea and the thing, from which
he disproves the evidence which the senses are supposed to give of
such things, are so far from correctly leading to such a conclusion,
that they are absolutely the very best proof that can be found of the
reality of external phenomena. They are the demonstrable and calcu-
lable results of the properties of external phenomena — distance, motion,
magnitude, &c. ; insomuch, that a much better argument can be con-
structed from the same considerations for, than against, the direct
evidence of our perceptions. We do not mean to affirm that this
would amount to a demonstration ; but it would certainly destroy
the force of any opposite inference from the same premises. And,
what is equally curious, were those variations and differences want-
ing, the fact would lead with far more conclusiveness to Berkeley's
theory. Could we perceive no differences of degree in operations and
processes, it is evident that we could not perceive them at all: it would
imply a contradiction in terms. If we could see a house at the dis-
tance of a mile, and at twenty yards, so as to give precisely the same
image, we should have demonstration against the evidence of sight.

As for our perception of ideas in the mind of the Supreme Being,
it seems to contain a strange oversight. It is indeed evident to what
an extent Berkeley, and all the reasoners of his class, have reasoned
exclusively on certain words and definitions, so as entirely to shut out
all the ordinary conditions inseparably connected with all knowledge.
If this proposition were simply to be confined to a certain limited class
of ideas, which are those evidently contemplated by Berkeley, it would
be difficult to deal with his assertion. But what is true of a simple
idea, is universally true of every idea on the very same ground; and,
consequently, the whole farrago of human folly, sin, error, and con-
tradiction, must be the substance of the divine thoughts — even the
doubts of his existence must be among the heterogeneous mass.

24 ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FOURTH

When he affirms or attempts to prove that things can have no real
existence distinct from their being perceived, it is quite plain that his
asserting that he does not deny their real existence, amounts to
nothing; for such is not the meaning of real existence. The argu-
ments by which he reduces things to ideas absolutely destroy their
real existence, in any sense but that of a fleeting succession of contra-
dictory thoughts.

To pursue this question farther is beyond our limits, and the design
of this work. Berkeley was accused of overlooking the statements of
the Scripture with respect to the creation — the consideration which
stopped Malebranche. But, indeed, it is easy to see how Berkeley
could dispose of such an objection. It would be no long step to trans-
fer Scripture to the mind from which it came ; yet the answer, too, is
ready — Scripture is not merely a train of ideas, but of affirmations and
negations about an external state of things, and these must be true or
false.

We must now pass to another Essay of less importance, did it not
curiously illustrate all the same dispositions of the mind, — the zeal
that would maintain truth by any power of sophistry, or even at the
sacrifice of reason itself. As arguments drawn from the properties of
matter had been used in support of atheism, he thought it a sufficient
reason for the denial of the existence of matter; so, as an eminent
mathematician had thought it reasonable to assail Christianity on the
ground of its mysteries, Berkeley made an attack on an important
branch of mathematics on the same ground.

There is, indeed, in the very conception, a singular oversight in
Berkeley's Analyst. To answer the alleged intention of his argument,
it should run thus, — You affirm that Christianity is untrue, because it
consists of certain mysteries; I will show you that there are similar
mysteries in mathematics, which is true nevertheless. Now, if this
argument should be conducted by showing the fallacy of these mathe-
matical mysteries, it simply rejects them as false mathematics, or, at
best, leaves the objection of the deist untouched; for, to complete the
analogy in which the answer consists, the mysteries of Christianity
should also be given up. If, however, Berkeley had shown that such
contradictions, or such inconclusive reasonings as he points out in the
fluxionary calculus are such but apparently, and by reason of the fact
that the secret of the intellectual process had not been found out, he
would then have precisely done what he proposed; for, the mysteries of
divine truth are nothing more in this respect than facts, of which but
part is known, and which are not within the limits of human knowledge.

When we first chanced to look at the Analyst, we were under the
impression that such was actually the design of Berkeley, and that his
controversial tone and allegations of sophistry were but the trick of
reasoning to set the point in its broadest light. But, in fact, he is
bitterly and angrily sincere, and seems altogether to lose sight of his
purpose in the heat of controversy. The argument, however, exhibits
both the acuteness of his reason, and — may we venture to say it? — the
unsoundness of his judgment. To grant his conclusion and take the
question in its most difficult aspect; a certain process, one of the
steps of which is a false assumption, leads, by some process not

PEBIOD.] GEORGE BERKELEY, D.D., BISHOP OF CLOYNE.

25

intelligible, to a result uniformly correct. Now, what is the objec-
tion ?— briefly and substantially it js this, — the conclusion is not
attained by any known process of logic. This would be fair enough
if any known process of logic could, from the same conditions fairly
used, prove the possible fallacy of the conclusion: to do this, how-
ever, we have to observe, not only the ascertained process must be
tried by this test, but the secret condition must be included. This
is, by the hypothesis, impossible. Next, it is to be considered that
if Berkeley's view be correct, the true result is obtained by a com-
pensation of errors. It is evident that there can be no fallacy in the
reasoning of the process, unless this compensation can be shown also
to be accidental — this is not alleged, and the argument correctly
stated on his view would be this, — there is a certain method of
reasoning which discovers truth by the compensation of opposite
errors. The fact is this, — the initial statement makes an omission,
which the conclusion rectifies by a necessity arising from the hypo-
thesis itself. But if the compensation is just, and the uniform result
of a process, there is no fallacy ; it is simply one of the processes of
reason in the discovery of truth. It is either a new law, or reducible
to an old law of logic ; but the argument, which when correctly used
leads to a true conclusion, is not a sophism. It is curious enough that
Berkeley's objection to the calculus is, in fact, the principle into which
Carnot resolves it.

But indeed it is not difficult to perceive that the errors supposed
are merely resources of calculation — the actual logic contains no con-
tradiction, which is really to be found in Berkeley's mistake as to the
intent and real process of the argument. Berkeley's main objection, may,
for clearness, be resolved into two. That the reader, who is not conver-
sant with such questions, may understand these, a simple statement of the
nature of the reasoning to which he objects will be necessary. If cer-
tain variable quantities are so related to each other, that as one
of them is taken greater or less, the other will also increase or
diminish according to some ascertained law, and that it is desired to
ascertain the state which is the limit of those changes. A statement
of the known conditions is made in a form called an equation, which
is supposed to represent the variable quantities, together with their
supposed increments and decrements. This equation is not, as in
common algebra, a statement in which all the values are supposed
fixed, and serving to ascertain the precise value of the unknown from
the given quantities. It is, in fact, the statement of a hypothesis
essentially implying the contrary, and made for the purpose of reason-
ing on a state of continued change; consequently, it represents an
initial state, from which a final state is to be deduced: therefore, it is
evident that the very law of reason to which Berkeley objects, is the
accurate logic of the question; for, a hypothesis must be made in the
first equation, which must disappear in the last. The question is, — if
such increments go on continually lessening, and may be assumed
therefore indefinitely small or nothing, what will be the consequence?
But there is in the objection, to which this is the answer, another
sophism: Berkeley attempts to show that the equation is false, and,
strictly speaking, it is so, according to the laws of common algebra;

2G ECCLESIASTICAL SERIES. [FoURTH

tried by the assumed test it would be found to want certain quantities.
But these are the very quantities "which must necessarily go out by the
very principle above stated — terms which would add much complica-
tion in the reasoning, and have no effect in the conclusion, and have,
therefore, by a universal rule of reason, been omitted in a compendious
process, which does better without them. Now, one of Berkeley's
arguments consists in a calculation by which he makes these quanti-
ties appear, — which the ordinary method of fluxions does not exhibitt
He thus appears to falsify the ordinary process. But the reply to
this objection is, that the omission of certain considerations, for the
convenience of an argument, in which it is essentially implied that they
are unimportant, is not a fallacy. The equation, in its first form, is
a statement of the effective conditions of a question; and all Berkeley's
objections could be met by simply adding et cetera. So far relates to
the algebraic method: the answer is, however, completed by a consid-
eration which will lead to the other point. The reason why the
omission is of no importance is this : that the variables being supposed
to pass through all the successive states of magnitude, while the incre-
ments, or decrements, diminish to a certain state, in which they cease
to exist — the question is, to determine or prove this state. And this is
determined by assuming the symbol expressing the increment to be = 0,
the equation must then be such as to indicate the sought limit; and
the quantities which were involved in the omitted part of the difference,
must have ceased to exist. If the question were, what would be the
result, supposing the variables to stop half way — all Berkeley's reason-
ing would be conclusive, so far as it applies. Against the conclusion
itself, he offers another curious cavil. But the mathematical reader
does not require this exposition ; and for the reader unversed in such
considerations, we have perhaps gone to the utmost limit of clearness.
Berkeley's objection to any conclusion being founded on a ratio, of
which the quantities are evanescent, has been anticipated by Newton,
in a scholium, contained in the first section of the first book of his
Principia. We shall, therefore, here conclude with the observation,
that Newton's own statement of the intent of his method should have
set Berkeley on a juster course of reasoning. " But because the hypo-
thesis of indivisibles appears more hard, and, therefore, that method
has been considered less geometrical, I have thought fit rather to found
the demonstrations of the following propositions upon ihejirst and last
sums and ratios of nascent and evanescent quantities ; that is, to the
limits of those sums and ratios."* It is, if just, curious enough, that
Berkeley's objection, to what he calls an erroneous equation, might be
obviated by the addition of an " £c."

If the reader should desire to see Berkeley's powers to advantage,
he must look for them in his attacks upon the sophistry of others, — in
the Minute Philosopher, and in portions of his Theory of Vision.

We have, in this memoir, sufficiently noticed the first of these excel-
lent compositions.

* " Sed quoniam durior est iudivisibilium hypothesis, et propteroa minus geo-
metricae censetur ; malui demonstrationes rerum sequentium ad ultimas quantita-
tum evanescentium summas et rationed, i>nmasque nascentium, id est, ad limites
summarum et rationum deducerc."

PERIOD.] MICHAEL CLEARY. 27

His new theory of vision is curious for the mixed evidence it gives
of the disposition of his understanding to the illusions of his own
subtlety, and the clearness of his apprehension when judging of the
fallacies of others. It indeed seems not a little curious how much of
the sounder portion of his conclusions appears to be the result of his
more unsound reasonings. In his disproof of the external world, he
dissipates the erroneous doctrines of abstract ideas. His Theory of
Vision, evidently composed for the same purpose, in the same manner
draws from him the most admirable details, and the rectification of old
fallacies. But the subject occupies much of the attention of the pre-
sent time, and would lead us too far for any purpose connected with
these memoirs.

HI. LITERARY SERIES.

BORN A.D. - . — DIED A.D. 1643,

OF MICHAEL CLEARY very little is satisfactorily known, and we
should, for this reason, consider ourselves absolved from any notice of
him, but for the place which he occupies in the history of our Irish
literature. This topic, so far as relates to the commencement of the
present division of these memoirs, must be regarded as rather belong-
ing to the antiquarian than to the historical biographer. But it is
necessary, as briefly as we may, to account for our neglect of the very
numerous poets who lived in the earlier half of the 17th century, and
whose writings are yet extant. For this there are sufficient reasons:
there are no materials for their personal histories, and their writings
are not extant in any published form. The great celebrity of a
renowned author of unpublished poetry might impose it upon us to
give some account of his works; but great indeed must be the import-
ance of the writings to which such a tribute would be excusable
here, and whatever may be the collective worth of the bards and his-
torians of the period included in these remarks, there are, individually,
few instances which demand the distinction of a memoir. We might,
by the help of some very accessible authorities, easily continue in this
period the barren list of unknown poets, which helped to fill the vacuity
of our previous period ; but, on looking very carefully over those
materials, we are unable to perceive what purpose would be served
by such a waste of our space, already contracting too fast for the
important matter yet before us.*

In that portion of the introductory observations allotted to the gene-

" We should here apprize the reader that the seeming disproportion, between
the space which we have given to the ecclesiastics and the literary persons belong-
ing to this period, is to he explained by the fact, that the most respectable of our
•writers hold also a prominent rank among our ecclesiastical dignitaries of the same
period.

28 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

ral consideration of Irish literature, we have endeavoured to give some
general notices of the character and importance of this unknown but
numerous class of writings, which lie concealed, though not inacces-
sible, in the archives of colleges, and in public and private libraries.
The individual whose name affords us occasion for these remarks, was
a native of Ulster, and a Franciscan friar. He was early in life
known as learned in the antiquities of his country, and as having a
critical acquaintance with the Irish tongue. These qualifications re-
commended him to Mr Hugh Ward as a fit person to collect informa-
tion for his projected history of the Irish saints, for which purpose he
was sent to the Irish college in Louvain. The materials which he
collected in the course of fifteen years passed into the hands of Colgan,
by the death of Ward.

Cleary at the same time collected materials, which he reduced into
three volumes of Irish history, of which the letters are mentioned by
Ware.

He was one of the compilers of the " Annals of Donegal" — a MS.
of the greatest authority in the antiquities of Ireland. His last work
was a Dictionary of the obsolete words in the Irish Language, published
in 1643, the year of his death.

. — DIED A.D. 1658.

COLGAN was a Franciscan in the Irish convent of St Anthony of
Padua, in Louvain, where he was professor of divinity. He collected
and compiled a well-known work of great authority among anti-
quarians, and of considerable use in some of the earlier memoirs of
this work.

His writings were numerous; and all, we believe, on the ecclesias-
tical antiquities of Ireland. His death, in 1658, prevented the publi-
cation of many of them.

Geoffrey

BORN A.D. - . - DIED A.D. 1650.

KEATING, well known as the writer of an antiquarian history of
Ireland — of great authority for the general fulness with which it
preserves the traditionary accounts of the earliest times, though liable
to some rather hasty censures for the indiscriminate combination of
the probable and improbable into one digested narrative, and in the
language of implicit belief. Such a work is, nevertheless, the most
certain and authentic record of the ancient belief of the learned and
unlearned of the land; and if the facts be not true in themselves, they
evidently characterize the mind of a period, while, generally speaking,
there is every reason to give credit to the more important parts of the
narrative; and, above all, to the genealogical traditions of the ancient
families of chiefs and kings. It is by no means a just inference that

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 29

they who entertain superstitious notions, and believe the absurdest
mythological fables and traditions, are, therefore, to be discredited in
their statements of the ordinary facts of history; in the former, both
the senses which observe, and the faithfulness which records, are wholly
uninvolved — the facts belong- to a different class of things, and a man
may believe a fable, yet speak truth in the concerns of life. When a
historian's authority, or the authorities on which he writes, are to be
questioned, the question must be, — is the relation honest, and are the
facts such as to admit of natural error? Now, in Keating's history,
the line of demarcation between truth and error will, in the main, be
easily seen. It will be at once observed, that the mere fact of the
existence of a large body of ancient literature, with all the extant
remains and traditions of Ireland, undeniably prove the existence of
some old state of civil order different from anything now existing,
and as far removed from the savage state. Such a state of things
must needs have left some record stamped with the form, and having
at least all the main outlines of the truth ; and it may be asked where
this record — of which the absence would be more improbable than any
part of Irish history — can be found, if not in those very traditions
which are the genuine remains of Irish literature, and the authorities
of old Keating. The facts are, it is true, often strangely involved
with fable; but there is no instance in which the discrimination of an
unbiassed intellect cannot at once make the due allowance.

Keating studied for twenty-three years in the college of Salamanca.
On his return to Ireland he was appointed to the parish of Tybrid,
which he soon resigned. He is said to have been driven into conceal-
ment by the hostility of a person whose mistress he excommunicated.
This person having threatened to murder him, he took refuge in a
wood between the Galty mountains and the town of Tipperary; and
in this retirement he wrote his history in the Irish language.

He was buried in the church of Tybrid, founded by himself and his
successor, in 1644.

His history was translated into English by a Mr Dermod O'Conor,
whose version is considered to have many inaccuracies. Another
translation was since commenced by a Mr William Halliday, an Irish
scholar of great reputation. His task was cut short by an early
death. He had proceeded so far as the Christian era, and published
a thin octavo, which has induced much regret among antiquarians
that he did not live to complete his undertaking.

Keating's other writings are of slight importance — they are a few
poems and professional treatises.

BORN A.D, 1626. — DIED A.D. 1691.

THE account of the early infancy of this most illustrious Irishman has
been written by himself under the title of Philalethes. This period of
his life was subject to more casualties and changes than are often known
to occur in the maturer age of the generality of men ; and this,

30

LITERARY SERIES. [FotRTU

indeed, in a manner and to an extent, which the character of our more
civilized times can scarcely be conceived to admit of. At the age of
three his mother died, and his intellect and moral temper were, at
that early age, sufficiently mature to comprehend and feel this irrep-
arable deprivation. The well-known activity of his ambitious father,
the first earl of Cork — a man ever on the stretch in the pursuit of
fortune and power — left his home often without a master, and his
children without a parent. To these sources of casualty may be added
the frequent necessity of removal and travelling through a wild and
unsettled country, and under the charge of menials. On the road, the
robber lurked among the rugged mountain-passes, and in the conceal-
ment of the bordering woods; on the British channel the pirate
roamed without restraint; and the Turkish galley infested and defied
the very coasts, which have now so long been sacred from such insults
and dangers.

At three years of age he had a narrow escape from being drowned,
by the fall of the horse on which he was carried, in crossing a deep
and rapid brook which was swollen by the rains. At seven", he tells
us that he had a still more remarkable escape from being crushed to
death by the fall of the ceiling of the chamber in which he slept.

At three years of age he was sent to Eton, of which the provost
was then Sir Henry Wotton, an intimate friend of his father's. Here
he was placed under the immediate tuition of Mr Harrison, who, it is
said, had the sagacity to discover the unusual capacity and the singu-
lar moral tendencies of his pupil, even at that early age, as well as the
skill to adapt his moral and intellectual treatment to so promising a
subject. Perceiving the indications of a mind unusually apprehen-
sive and curious, he was careful that these happy inclinations should
not want for exercise; and, as he had a willing mind to deal with, he
avoided damping, in any degree, the voluntary spirit, by even the
semblance of a constraint, which, in common cases, is of such primary
necessity. By this method, so applicable in this peculiar instance,
the ardour for information, which seems to have been so providentially
implanted in the youthful philosopher's mind, became so intensely
kindled, that it became necessary to employ some control, for the
purpose of forcing him to those intermissions of rest and needful ex-
ercise for which boys are commonly so eager. Harrison meanwhile
watched over the extraordinary youth with a zealous, intelligent, and
assiduous care> ever ready to answer his questions, and to commu-
nicate knowledge in the form of entertaining discourse.

The main object of his studies at Eton was the acquisition of
classical knowledge, and he soon attained a considerable intimacy
with the best writers of antiquity. He himself has mentioned,
that the accidental perusal of Quintus Curtius had the effect of
awakening his imagination, in an extraordinary degree, and thus
excited in his mind an increased thirst for historical knowledge.*

* It is curious to compare the impressions communicated by the same circum-
stance to different minds. We extract the following from a well-known periodical: —
" The effect which the same romantic historian is said to have produced on
Charles XII., is, however, more direct and natural. In reading of the feats of

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 31

We must confess to some difficulty in distinctly appreciating such an
impulse from such a cause, further than as the transient impression
of an hour, which the next would dispel. The excitements of Quintus
Curtius are scarcely to be expected in the page of regular history. A
more natural impulse is attributed to the accident of his being initiated
in the range of romantic fiction, which was, we are bound to say, a
most grievous error, which cannot be too strenuously deprecated in
these pages, and which we shall therefore pause to discuss more fully.
The circumstances are these: — During his stay at Eton he was
attacked by a fit of the tertian ague, of such severity and duration,
that his constitution, naturally delicate, became very much debilitated,
and a long time elapsed before he recovered his strength sufficiently
for the purpose of his studies. In this condition it occurred to his
tutor — who, after all, was more of the scholar than the philosopher — to
indulge his craving and restless mind by the perusal of novels and
romances. Some reflections in a contemporary memoir, on the same
incident, convey our sentiments with so much truth that we shall here
extract them, — " As might be presumed, the effect was to leave on
his mind a distaste for less stimulative aliment, and to excite his mind
to a state of undue activity. The sense of martial ardour, — the pride
and stimulus of military emulation, ambition, and danger, — the physi-
cal sympathies of action, with all the vain glories of romance, were
acted on and called forth. He became a castle-builder and a dreamer.
He makes a remark on this subject, of which we have long since had
occasion to learn the value — that it is unfortunate for those who have
busy thoughts to be without timely employment for their activity.
Such, indeed, is the misfortune which — worse than even the corrup-
tions of passion — has consigned many a high and far-grasping intellect
to a life of dreams. Gambling, and debauchery, and the seductions
of sense, are not more sure in their fatal effects, so uninterruptible in
their course, or so seductive, as this refined and intellectual fascina-
tion,— more sure and dangerous, because it operates in loneliness, and
finds its good within itself. When the imagination is once fairly
seized with this self-seeking desire, even the slightest thing that occurs,
or that is seen, read, or heard of, is enough to give it impulse and
direction, and the heart acts the hero or voluptuary's part; the
Augustus, or Nero, or Heliogabulus ; the Paris, or Achilles; and, in
its own secluded recess, rules or disposes of more worlds than Alex-
ander could have conquered. There is an interest in finding our infir-
mities reflected in a mind like Boyle's ; but it is both instructive and
encouraging to learn, by what timely resolution and prudence, in the

Alexander he was affected by a sympathy of a kindred mind, and became a war-
rior. Quintus Curtius wrote for a corrupt and luxurious age, when the nobles of
the latter periods of the Roman empire were excluded from politics and war, and
only alive to the stimulants of sense and taste. His invention and eloquence were
of a high order, and he wrote for effect — his success was worthy of a better
object. His descriptions and pictorial touches, — his dialogues and characteristic
sayings and incidents, — and even his description of the private reflections of the
persons of the narrative, while they materially diminish his credit as a historian,
must still have produced on his ancient readers an effect, not greatly inferior to
that produced on the readers of Ivaiihoe." — Dublin University Magazine, May,
1836.

32 LITERARY SERIES. [FoURTH

application of means, he shook off this disease of the spirit. To
recover his power of application he had recourse to the study of
mathematics, and found in its precise relations and rigid conclusions
that interest and necessity of attention, which was the remedy his case
required."* There is indeed prevalent, in our own times, an error
well worthy of the most serious consideration upon the subject of a
very large class of works of fiction — we mean that most pernicious of
all literary compositions, of which it is the real aim to tamper with pas-
sion and sentiment, and the pretence — no doubt sincere — to inculcate
some good lesson in morality and prudence. Such lessons are not only
useful, but necessary to young and old; but it is known that their opera-
tion is slow, and the result of much and repeated trial and experience :
it is also known that the truths of experience are long known to the un-
derstanding before they have any very practical influence on the heart ;
while, on the contrary, passion and sentiment, the main impulses of
conduct, operate with a spontaneous force in the fullest maturity of
that head wisdom which is expected to constrain them. Reason may be
called the helm, and experience the chart of prudence and principle;
but passion and sentiment have pretty much the same relation to the
tempest, the current, and the shoal, and it seems a curious inconsistency
of purpose which would make the latter instrumental to the uses
of the former. A lesson, for example, of the delicate embarrass-
ments, cross-purposes, and misunderstandings of the tender passions,
may be made the vehicle for noble sentiments and virtuous conduct;
but the young and tender bosom which has thus been betrayed into
those fearful and seductive sympathies, will be infected by their
clinging influence, when the noblest maxims of virtue and its loftiest
examples are forgotten. In vain the charms are spread which are to
sweeten the lesson of virtue, if they have a far nearer connexion with
infirmities, follies, and vices. The Minerva, with the naked bosom,
may preach in vain on the charms of abstinence and heroic self-denial ;
human nature will seize the thoughts, and be attracted by the sense
for which its affinity is nearest. Heroism, set off by beauty, and
softened by the glow of the passions, will, for a moment, appear doubly
heroic ; but the enthusiasm of taste will subside, and the pupil or
spectator will find some more interesting and congenial way of apply-
ing the lesson. As we do not here think it necessary to repeat the
commonly urged objection to works of fiction — that they offer false
views of society — we will say that it is not, certainly, from any want
of concurrence in them; and we may observe, by the way, that it is
the high praise of the Warerley novels that they avoid all these objec-
tions, neither giving false views, nor deriving interest from dele-
terious materials.

As to the effect of such influences upon the mind of Boyle, it must
have been materially diminished by the great counteraction, if not
entire preponderance of dispositions of an opposite tendency, which
will show themselves plainly enough as we proceed. Without entering
into any refinement upon intellectual powers and tendencies, the
character of Robert Boyle was eminently practical, and his temper

* Dublin University Magazine, May, 1836.

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 33

conscientious in an unusual degree. The general tenor of his early life
was in itself adapted to favour, and, in some measure, produce these
dispositions: the unsettled character of the times in which he lived;
the rude emergencies of even a change of place, attendant on such
times ; and the universal agitation and tempest of the period in which
he came to man's estate, were, in no small degree, calculated to turn
the attention of thoughtful spirits on the external scene, and to give
development to the turn for observation and practical application. It
is perhaps not improbable, that such was the general effect of the civil
wars of that period upon the times and the public rnind, — the fine-spun
cobwebs of philosophy, and the gorgeous cloudwork of poetry, are
probably deprived of their influence upon the mass of minds when so
kept painfully on the stretch by startling realities. But with such
considerations we are evidently unconcerned.

After having continued four years at Eton, Boyle was recalled by
his father, who had at this time come to live at Stalbridge, in Dorset-
shire. He, nevertheless, sedulously applied himself to the acquisition
of classical knowledge, and also of ancient history. His father
engaged a Mr Marcombes, a foreigner, to assist his studies. This
gentleman had been first employed as travelling tutor to his brothers,
the lords Broghill and Kinalmeaky.

In 1638, when he had attained his eleventh year, he was sent on
his travels, under the charge of the same gentleman. His destination
was Geneva, where he was to continue his studies, — a plan most
probably originating with Marcornbes, who was a native of the town,
and, having a family resident in it, was evidently very much con-
venienced by the arrangement. They took their route by London,
where his brother, who was also to be the companion of his foreign
sojourn, was to be married to Mrs Anne Killigrew, a maid of honour
to the queen. From London they found their way to Paris, and from
thence to Lyons, and on through Savoy to Geneva.

Boyle, in his autobiographical memoir, attributes much of the
moral improvement of his mind to the care, and to the influence of
some strong points in the character of Mr Marcombes, and we are
strongly inclined to join in the opinion. He mentions his tutor as
one who was an acute observer of the ways of men, who formed his
opinions from life, not from books, and had not merely a contempt,
but an aversion for pedantry, which he hated " as much as any of the
seven deadly sins." It is also very evident that Mr Marcombes was
by no mean an indulgent observer, but nice, critical, choleric; and to
the quickness of his temper Mr Boyle ascribes the fortunate subjuga-
tion of his own. If, indeed, Mr Boyle's temper was as irritable as he
himself represents it to have been, this is a fact not unimportant to
the instructors of youth; for he is one of the most perfect models
which biography affords, of patience and mildness. In this, however,
other and far superior influences must claim a larger share, as Mr
Boyle was pre-eminently a Christian. To religion, we are inclined to
think, there was in his mind a very peculiar tendency. Such ten-
dencies, we are aware, do not, as a matter of course, lead to the actual
adoption of any religion, still less of the Christian religion. When
the great truths of Christianity are not instilled into the heart with

Vox,, v. c

34 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

the first rudiments of education, they can only be afterwards received
on evidence which claims the assent of the understanding1, and
this must be sought and studied with much careful attention. In
Boyle's time, this evidence was easily overlooked for many reasons;
and it is always listened to with strong reluctance, — the severe, simple,
and practical requisitions of Christian teaching being strongly opposed
to the whole bent of human nature, and the entire spirit of social life.
Butler, and Paley, and other eminent men, afterwards called up to
crush the hydra of infidelity, had not yet placed the question within the
easy reach of the public mind. Notwithstanding the able writings of
Grotius, and those of the more ancient apologists, unhappily, during the
middle ages, Christianity had been displaced from its basis of evidence,
and placed upon a foundation of quicksand, so as to present neither
its genuine form nor its real credentials.

From these considerations, we lean to suspect that religious truths
had no very strong hold of Mr Boyle's mind, at the period of which
we speak. The incidents which had a decided effect to unsettle his
belief, are such as to illustrate some of the foregoing remarks very
strongly, while, at the same time, they indicate a very singular
impressibility.* He himself mentions the solemn impression upon
his mind of a tremendous thunderstorm in the dead of the night; it
led him to reflect earnestly upon his state of mind, and to recollect his
great deficiencies according to the standard by which he professed to
walk. Some time after this, however, an impression of a very different
nature was made upon him, in one of those excursions which he was
accustomed to make from Geneva into the mountains that lay around.
Visiting the ancient monastery of Chartreuse, in a wild alpine recess
near Grenoble, his feelings were so powerfully wrought upon by the
savage and gloomy scenery, the curious pictures, and mysterious tradi-
tions of the monastery, that his excited imagination called up and
lent a momentary reality to the legendary superstition of the place.
The powerful impressions thus made upon a mind, characteristically
impressible, were such as to obscure and cast a dimness upon his far
less vivid impressions of Christianity, of which, it must be observed,
he knew not any distinct proofs; and his reason, bewildered between
the appeals of a strongly impressed and sensibly imbodied super-
stition, and of a vague and imperfectly conceived belief, became
unsettled upon the momentous truths of religion, which, under the
same common name, offered such opposite and irreconcilable demands
on faith. The traditions of St Bruno, which were thus brought as
a sensible reality to the imagination, stood, as it were, nearer to the
eye than the remote and dimly apprehended truths of the gospel ; and,
while the fancy gave power to the one, reason ceased to discriminate
with accuracy, and lost its inadequate hold of the other. The pro-
cess is by no means one confined to a youthful fancy and a visionary
turn, but, with some modification, can be distinctly traced to the
pseudo-philosophy of the last century. The shallow but eloquent Vol-

* " Mr Boyle's mind was of that reflective and sensitive cast, on which slight
influences had great effects ; nor, without the full allowance for this, can the con-
struction of his character be distinctly understood." — Dublin University Maga-
zine.

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 35

ney has expanded the fallacy into a systematic argument; the impos-
ing1 sophistry of Gibbon — so far as it can be extracted from the am-
biguities of style — indicates a mind labouring under misconceptions
of the same order.

With respect to Boyle, his own account of the result substantiates
the important fact affirmed in the foregoing remarks. Like Gibbon,
Paine, Volney, and other persons, the history of whose scepticism is
known, he was ignorant of the actual evidences of the facts and author-
ities of Christianity, and knew it only, as it is most commonly known
to the multitude, through its moral and doctrinal rules and princi-
ples ; and thus, when it became reduced into the mass of clashing creeds
and dogmas, its hold upon mere reason was, as a matter of course,
obscured. But it is to the praise of Mr Boyle, that with him to doubt
was to inquire, and to inquire was to cast away the prepossessions,
and resist the prejudices which obscure the shallow depths of human
speculation. He was determined to " be seriously inquisitive of the
very fundamentals of Christianity, and to hear what both Jews and
Greeks, and the chief sects of Christians, could allege for their
opinions; that so, though he believed more than he could comprehend,
he might not helieve more than he could prove." The intellectual
soundness thus perceptible in a youth of fourteen is very remarkable;
and the more so, because it shows a just discernment of the fallacy
upon which so many clever, and sometimes profound reasonerg, have
been wrecked in all times. Some refuse to assent to that which can-
not be explained, while others invent systems for the mere explana-
tion of the same difficulties : both confounding explanation with proof,
and overlooking the most elementary conditions of reason and the
limits of human knowledge. Boyle proceeded with the characteristic
sincerity of his temper to fulfil his wise resolution. A mind, so
happily constituted for research, could not fail to receive ready satis-
faction as to the evidences which offer the clearest and best examples
of every proof within the compass of human knowledge. He is
known as an eminent Christian ; and this part of his history may be
said to have its illustrious monument in the foundation of a lecture
for the defence of the Christian religion, which has been occupied by
some of the most eminent names in Christian theology.

In September, 1641, he left Geneva, and visited many of the princi-
pal towns in Italy. He made a more prolonged stay at Venice, then
in its full splendour, a great centre of trade, and a concourse of nations,
tongues, and manners. It was the age when the last and consummate
finish of a polite education was sought in foreign travel, — foreign
travelling, still an important advantage to the scholar, was then an
indispensable requisite to the polite or learned. It supplied the defi-
ciency of books by the actual observation of things — it opened the
mind by extending the sphere of its intercourse; and, while it enlarged
the conversation, it softened prejudices, and gave ease, affability, and
freedom to the manners and address.

In Florence he passed the winter of the same year, and, during his
stay, acquired the Italian language. Here also he became acquainted
with the "new paradoxes" of Galileo, an acquisition, which, to the
genius of Bo^le, may well be supposed to have been important.

36 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

From Florence he went on to Home, and was enabled to exercise
his observing and inquiring spirit without interruption, by taking
upon him the character of a Frenchman. He had, while in Geneva,
acquired the most perfect ease and correctness in that language, and,
in Rome, the acquisition became important. It was his aim to escape
the penetrating espionage of the English Jesuits, whose duty it would
have been to denounce the prohibited presence of an English protes-
tant. Mr Boyle attributed this prohibition to the reluctance which
was felt by the Papal court and the ecclesiastical authorities to allow
strangers, and particularly protestant strangers, to perceive the very
low state of religion then prevalent, and the little reverence paid to
the Pope in his own city. There was, indeed, enough to fix his atten-
tion upon the darkness and intellectual prostration of the place and
time. He never, he declares, saw so small a respect for the Pope as in
Rome, or met with infidelity so open and unshrinking as in Italy.

From Rome he returned to Florence, and from thence to Pisa,
Leghorn, and by sea to Genoa. He then returned to France. On
his journey he was exposed to no small danger in the streets of a fron-
tier town, for refusing to take off his hat to a crucifix. At Marseilles
he met with gloomy tidings, accompanied by a severe and unexpected
disappointment. Having expected remittances, he only received let-
ters from his father, giving deplorable accounts of the rebellion, and
informing him that he had only had it in his power to raise £250, to
bear their expenses home. This remittance miscarried, it is believed
from the dishonesty of the banker in Paris to whom it was committed.
Under these embarrassing circumstances, Mr Marcombes brought
them back to Geneva, where they were compelled to remain for two
years, in the vain expectation of supplies, and at last found it necessai-y
to have recourse to an expedient, to enable them to find their way
home. Mr Marcombes obtained a sufficient amount of jewellery on
his own credit, and this enabled them to travel on to England, whore
they arrived in ] 644.

In the mean time the earl of Cork had died. He left, by will, the
manor of Stalbridge, and some other property in Ireland, to Robert
Boyle. But though thus well provided for in the way of fortune, the
unsettled condition of the country rendered it difficult for him to
obtain money, so that he found it expedient to reside for several
months with his sister, lady Ranelagh. This arrangement was fortu-
nate, as it was the means of diverting him from a purpose which he
had recently formed of entering the army.

As his brother, lord Broghill, had considerable interest, he obtained
through his means a protection for his estates in England and Ire-
land, and was also permitted to return to France for the purpose of
settling the debts which he had been forced to contract.

He soon returned and retired to his manor of Stalbridge, where he
spent four years in the most intense pursuit of knowledge, occasion-
ally, however, relaxing his mind, or diversifying his studies, by excur-
sions to London and Oxford. During this interval he applied himself
for a time to ethical investigations, upon which subject he composed a
treatise. His favourite pursuit, however, was natural philosophy, in
different departments of which he soon obtained as much knowledge

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 37

as the state of science at that period afforded. He mentions of him-
self, that, at this period of his life, his industry was so unremitting1,
that he continued to mix study with every pursuit, so as not to lose a
moment which could be profitably applied. " If they were walking
down a hill, or on a rough road, he would still be studying1 till supper,
and frequently proposed such difficulties as he had met with to his
governor."

Among the resources of learned men in that period for the attain-
ment and interchange of knowledge, none was more cultivated or more
effective for its end than epistolary correspondence; by means of
which, the concert and stimulus which soon after began to be propa-
gated by learned societies, was kept up by individual communications.
'For those, who like Boyle devoted themselves to knowledge, such a re-
source was then of primary consideration, and, to a great extent, also
supplied the place of books : the lights of science were uncertain and
rare, and the ardent student of nature was on the watch for every gleam.
Boyle was not remiss in seeking the enlightening intercourse of those
who were the most eminent for worth and learning.

In 1645, during the civil wars, a small company of persons of
talent and learning were in the habit of meeting in London first, and
afterwards, when London became too troubled tor peaceful studies, in
Oxford. The object of their meetings was to hold conversations and
make communications in natural philosophy. This was the first begin-
ing of that most illustrious institution the Royal Society, and consisted
of many of those who were its most eminent members — Wallis, Wren,
Ward, Wilkins, &c., — men, among whom, at Mr Boyle's time of life,
it was, in the highest degree, an honour to be included. They were
the followers of Bacon, and the immediate precursors of Newton. The
light of human reason had been long struggling, vainly, to break forth
from the overpowering control of the spiritual despotism of the middle
ages; and in Italy, a succession of minds of the first order, Copernicus,
Kepler, Galileo, with his contemporaries, had arisen, in vain, above the
dim twilight of school and cloister — though not permitted to be the
lights of science, yet condemned to leave indelible illustrations of
the power of superstition and slavery, and of the importance of
freedom of thought to the advancement of mankind. This vital ele-
ment had found its place in England : the reformation of religion was
also the rectification of reason, and the spirit of the venerable fathers
of modern science was now to shine out in the daylight of freedom,
unfettered by any impositions save those limits assigned by him from
whom reason is the gift to man. The eminent men whom we have
mentioned had agreed upon weekly meetings at each other's lodgings;
they also sometimes met in Gresham College. Their meetings were
interrupted after the death of Charles, when London, for a time,
became the seat of crime and anarchy, and especially unsafe for those
who did not wish to go the fullest lengths of compliance with the
spirit of the hour. The principal portion of the members retired to
Oxford. The result of the connexions thus formed was a more deter-
minate direction to the philosophical taste, and, perhaps, an increased
impulse to the extraordinary assiduity with which Mr Boyle devoted

38 LITERARY SERIES. [FoUKTU

himself to investigations which have conferred upon his name a distin-
guished place in the history of natural philosophy.

The close and sedentary habits, consequent on such assiduous study,
were not without their debilitating effects upon Boyle's corporeal
frame. Before he was yet of age he became subject to repeated
attacks of that most afflicting disease, the stone.

In 1652, he came over to settle his affairs in Ireland, and
remained for a considerable time, but complained very much of the
great obstacles which baffled his efforts to make a progress in his
favourite investigations in chemical science. Still his unrelaxing
ardour found a congenial pursuit in anatomy, and he entered on a
course of dissection, under the guidance of Dr William Petty, physi-
cian to the army. Of this, he says, " I satisfied myself of the circula-
tion of the blood, and have seen more of the variety and contrivances
of Nature, and the majesty and wisdom of her Author, than all the
books I ever read in my life could give me convincing notions of."

In 1654, he executed an intention, which, he had long meditated,
of retiring to Oxford, where his chief associates in study still met;
and where he could with more ease pursue his favourite inquiries in
science. It was their custom to meet at each other's apartments or
dwellings, in turn, to discuss the questions of principal interest at the
time, mutually communicating to each other the result of their several
labours. They called themselves the Philosophical College, and per-
haps were not without some sense of the important results to which
their studies were afterwards to lead. They principally applied
themselves to mathematical, and, still more, to experimental inquiries
in natural philosophy. Among this distinguished body, the nucleus
of modern philosophy, Boyle was not the least active or efficient.
Of his labours, we shall presently speak more in detail. He seems
to have been early impressed by the discoveries and the opinions
declared by the Florentine philosophers, and directed his investigations
with a view to confirm and follow out their discoveries: the result
was a very considerable improvement upon the air-pump, a machine
invented very recently by Otto of Guericke, a burgomaster of Magde-
burg. Endowed with faculties, in the very highest degree adapted
to the purposes of experimental science, he pursued, confirmed, and
extended the science of pneumatics, of which the foundations had been
laid by Torricelli, Pascal, and Huygens.

During the same interval, while engaged with ardour essential to
genius and natural to youth, in these captivating and absorbing pur-
suits, Boyle's just, comprehensive, and conscientious spirit was not
turned aside from the still higher path which he had chosen for his
walk through life. The same inquiring, docile, and cautious habits
of mind, improved by the investigations of natural philosophy, were
directed to the investigation of the sacred records. He made great
progress in the acquisition of the Oriental tongues, and in the critical
study of the Scriptures in their original languages. He composed an
" Essay oti the Scriptures," in which this proficiency is honourably
illustrated. The exemplary zeal with which, amidst the multiplicity
of his pursuits, and the distraction of severe disease, he gave his mind

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 39

to a pursuit, so apt to be overlooked by men intensely engaged in
temporal pursuits, is very strongly expressed by himself. " For my
part, reflecting often on David's generosity, who would not offer as a
sacrifice to the Lord that which cost him nothing, I esteem no labour
lavished that illustrates or endears to me that divine book, and think it
no treacherous sign that God loves a man, when he inclines his heart to
love the scriptures, where the truths are so precious and important that
the purchase must at least deserve the price. And I confess myself
to be none of those lazy persons who seem to expect to obtain from
God a knowledge of the wonders of his book, upon as easy terms as
Adam did a wife, by sleeping soundly." Of this spiritual frame of
mind we shall find numerous and increasing proofs. During his resi-
dence at Oxford he was not less solicitous in his cultivation of, and
intercourse with, the best preachers and ablest divines, than with those
eminent philosophers who had associated themselves with him, and
•whose meetings were often held in his apartments. Pococke, Hyde,
Clarke, and Barlow, were among his intimates and advisers in those
studies, of which they were the lights and ornaments in their day. In
common with the ablest and soundest of his literary associates, he
warmly opposed the absurd scholastic method of philosophizing, which
was the remains of the scholastic period, but was maintained under
the abused name and sanction of Aristotle.

The reputation of his learning and sanctity was perhaps extended
by his character as a philosopher, as well as by his illustrious birth.
The lord chancellor Clarendon was among those who importuned him
to enter upon holy orders; but Boyle, with the just and philosophical
discernment, as well as the disinterestedness of his character, refused,
upon the consideration that his writings in support of divine truth
would come with more unmixed authority from one connected by no
personal interest with its maintenance. So high at the same time was
his reputation as a philosopher, that the grand duke of Tuscany
requested of Mr Southwell, the English resident at his court, to con-
vey to Mr Boyle his desire to be numbered among his correspondents.

In 1662, a grant of the forfeited impropriations in Ireland was ob-
tained in his name, but without any previous communication with him.
This he applied to the purposes of maintaining, and extending the
benefits of Christianity, by supporting active and efficient clergymen.
In the same year he was appointed president of the Society for the
propagation of the gospel in New England: a society which was, we
believe, the origin of those societies for the same end, of which the
results have been so diffusively connected with the more permanent
and higher interests of the human race.

The philosophical works and investigations of Boyle, in the mean-
while, followed thick upon each other. The splendid progress of the
physical sciences since his time have been, in every branch, such as to
cast an undeserved oblivion over the able and intelligent inquirers who
began the inarch of science in England. Though they were far in
advance of their day, yet after all, their happiest advances were but
ignorant conjectures, compared with the discoveries which may be
said to have followed in their track. The fame of Hooke is lost in

40 LITERARY SERIES. [Foui.TH

the discoveries of Newton.* Boyle is said to have suggested to this
great man the first ideas of his theory of light, in an Essay containing
" Considerations and Experiments concerning Colours." This was
published in 1 663, when Newton was in his twentieth year, and three
years hefore he commenced those experiments to which the theory of
colours is due. But Boyle's researches, directed by a true theory of
the principles of inquiry, were full of true and just suggestions, of
which, nevertheless, it is not a fair way of thinking, to attribute to
them the discoveries of any subsequent inquirer. The same sugges-
tions are, to a marvellous extent, presented to various minds with a
coincidence which may be called simultaneous : they are, in truth, the
product of the age, and of the reality of things. One true notion
received will be similarly applied by nearly all minds of a certain
order; and as principles of investigation and facts become matured
and accumulated, it is rather the wonder how so many can differ than
that so many should agree.

Mr Boyle was, at this period of life, exposed to the ridicule of per-
sons of profligate or worldly temper, by the publication of some moral
essay, under the title of " Occasional Reflections on different Subjects,"
which had been written in his younger days, and which, as might be
expected from one of Mr Boyle's simplicity of mind, went to the fullest
lengthsf in the truths of moral and spiritual reflection. That the
soundest reason should on these, as on all other subjects of thought,
keep nearest to truth, would seem to be a natural consequence. But
the mind of society is, to a large extent, enlisted in behalf of the follies
and corrupt conventions by which the spirit of the world is kept in
conceit with itself ; and one of the consequences is the tacit pro-
scription of numerous plain truths, which no one denies, and few like
to have forced upon their attention. The formal admission and prac-
tical contempt of many truths have thus converted them into solemn
trifles, destitute of their proper meaning and afforded to satire the
keenest of its shafts, which is directed against everything at which
the world desires to laugh, and would gladly look upon as folly. It
has, in effect, no very profound air to say gravely what every one
knows and no one heeds, and it will become nearly burlesque, if such
things are solemnly put forth in the tone and manner of deep reflec-
tion— the more so, too, as it is always very common to meet amiable
shallow triflers, who deal in commonplaces, because, in fact, they can
talk on no other conditions. But it is easy to see how, to a deep

* Newton prob;ibly took the thought of gravitation from Ilooke. It is an interest-
ing fact that Milton seems to have described the idea of solar attraction in the
following lines : —

" AVhat if the sun

Be centre to the world, and other stars
]iy his attractive virtue and their own
Incited, dance about him various rounds ?"

f Intense and serious minds seldom understand ridicule, and are, therefore, not
unapt to walk unconsciously within its precincts. Ridicule is the great weapon
of ignorance, shallowness, and vice ; but it is wielded in the hands of wit and
malice, and is, therefore, formidable.

PEIUOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 41

thinker, whose mind is uncorrupted by the world, many great first
truths, which are lost in the vague forms of proverbial commonplace,
should start into an intense reality; and thus language, which has lost
its sense to worldly wisdom, acquire a power beyond the conception
of keen and shrewd deriders. Of this single-minded, earnest, and
conscientious character was Mr Boyle, to whom the very title of the
Supreme Being brought a sense of veneration, and a host of solemn
and affecting truths, such as seldom in any way, and never very in-
tensely, crossed the minds of those who exercised their wit upon his
reflections. The author of Hudibras was one of these; he imitated
Mr Boyle in " An occasional Reflection on Dr Charlton's feeling a
Dog's Pulse, at Gresham College." Swift also wrote his " Pious
Meditations on a Broomstick," in imitation of the same compositions.

The high reputation, both as a philosopher and a Christian, acquired
by Mr Boyle, recommended him to the respect and favour of all that
was high and honourable in the land. The provostship of Eton having
become vacant, he was nominated by the king to that important station.
This he declined, because he wanted no addition either to his rank or
fortune. He had decided against taking holy orders, for a reason
which we have always considered as having much weight: that the
world, and still more the infidel portion of it, is more likely to be in-
fluenced by the more apparently disinterested Christianity of a lay-
man, than by the professional zeal and testimony of a churchman.
Mr Boyle had also a sense that his devotion to chemistry might be
found inconsistent with the active duties of the college, as he would
find it his duty to fulfil them.

He was, at the same period of his life, appealed to upon a controversy
which then, and often since, has excited the attention of society. This
was the question as to the supposed supernatural virtue of healing,
which was supposed to reside in the person of a Mr Valentine Great-
rakes. Both parties addressed their appeal to Mr Boyle, as the per-
son of the age most fitted to give an authoritative opinion. We should
enter here very fully into that curious subject, had we not to give a
separate notice on it in the memoir of Mr Greatrakes, where we shall
give it exclusive consideration. Suffice it here to say, that a letter
was addressed to Mr Boyle, by a Mr Stubbe, in behalf of Greatrakes,
and that he replied in another, which, deservedly, obtained great
praise.

In 1667, when a severe attack was made upon the Royal Society,
Mr Boyle took a prominent part in the defence. It was, in reality,
the era of a great revolution in the intellectual world — when the con-
test between the darkness of the scholastic age and the light of the
Newtonian day was at its maximum point of violence. The advocates
of a master, who would have scornfully disclaimed them, supplied the
want of reason in favour of the Aristotelian philosophy, by charging
the new philosophy and its supporters with impiety. The charge
was, indeed, unlucky; it appealed to prejudices, and placed truth itself
in a false position. The sacred history, written in an early age of the
world, and not designed for the chimerical and inconsistent purpose
of teaching natural philosophy, used the language of mankind in its
allusions to nature — the only medium by which it could continue in-

42 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

telligible through so many states of civilization. But as men theo-
rized on nature, and came to various notions on the structure of the
mundane system, it is evident that they would compare the language
of holy writ with the conclusions of science. Hence difficulties would
arise. To deal with these, or to prevent them, the jargon of the
schools was a convenient, but most mischievous resource. It was
virtually the means of arriving at any desired inference by verbal dex-
terity. Thus adopting as sacred revelations, the indispensable lan-
guage of the Bible, it preserved an erroneous system of physics, by
excluding the consideration of phenomena. The mistake of the
ancient writers on this head was two-fold; for, the scripture was not
only understood to declare an accurate system of the world, but its
language was so interpreted as to convert the prevalent philosophy
of the age into the intent and meaning of the sacred text. Thus,
unhappily, arose the self-perpetuation of error : it perverted scripture ;
and erected the perversion into sacred authority. When the reason
of mankind became more free, another evil result arose: the fallacies
which were thus wedded to the Bible, by old and venerated error,
could not be easily divorced, and became a fertile ground for the
sophistry of the deist. And yet, in a philosophic age, it seems strange
that sophisms so obvious should have been ventured. It ought, indeed,
to be observed that even the latest works on astronomy are liable to the
very same misinterpretations ; for, from the difficulty and complica-
tion of the subject, it is found necessary to adopt a fictitious con-
vention, founded on appearances, as an indispensable 'necessity of
language. And that fiction is the very same which the philosophers
and divines of ages imagined to be a system maintained on the
authority of scripture — which contained no system, and disclosed
not one single fact in nature. For the purpose, it should, indeed,
have contained some other books, bigger than itself, of pure and
unmixed mathematics. Nor would it be very possible to fix a limit
where God should cease to reveal, and reason begin its queries,
cavils, and senseless mistakes and superstitions. The language of
Laplace, of the vulgar of all ages, founded on the common principles
of human language, is precisely that which the sacred penmen have
used ; because there never was, or will be, any other. The secret that
the truth of God needs no veil of consecrated error — and that his
word stands aloof and undefined by the rashness of theories, or the
fanaticism of schools — was as far from being understood as the Baco-
nian philosophy. As a theory of metaphysics, the inductive method
might be suffered to pass among other subtle speculations: specula-
tion had, indeed, so little connexion with practice, that there was
nothing very formidable in any effort of this nature — it was simply a
great book to swell the mass of academic lucubration. But it was a
different thing when a new race of inquirers arose, and, throwing
aside the endless and inconclusive resources of division, distinction,
syllogism, and definition, stretched beyond, and mistaken in their use,
and began to weigh and measure, compare, compound, and analyze,
and seek for the constitution of nature by a diligent and searching
examination of nature itself. Such a new and daring course would
not only assail the learned repose of universities, and deprive grave

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 43

doctors of much cheap-won wisdom, but it also gave a violent shock
to that factious zeal with which systems are so much upheld. Hence
it was that where reason failed, it was an easy, though most unfor-
tunate, resource of controversy, to call in the aid of an appeal such as
that we have described, and bring holy writ to the aid of the Aristo-
telians. The error has been propagated down to our times, checking
science, and abusing scripture. The Royal Society was its first ob-
ject. Mr Boyle was personally treated with the respect of his anta-
gonists— a remarkable testimony to his reputation for piety and worth.
A friend of his, who was a leading writer in the controversy, notices
him in this honourable manner : that he " alone had done enough to
oblige all mankind, and to erect an eternal monument to his memory;
so that had he lived in the days when men godded their benefactors,
he could not have missed one of the first places among their deified
mortals ; and that in his writings are to be found the greatest strength
and the sweetest modesty, the noblest discoveries and the most gene-
rous self-denial, the profoundest insight into philosophy and nature,
and the most devout and affectionate sense of God and religion."

In the following year he changed his residence from Oxford to
London, where he took up his quarters with the lady Ranelagh his
sister. The change facilitated his communication with the Royal
Society, and with learned men. As was usual, he continued to pro-
duce and send forth essays on various branches of natural philosophy;
chiefly, however, upon subjects connected with the properties of air and
water. In 1670, he published a work containing a more detailed
account of his philosophical speculations and discoveries. This work
obtained very general notice, and we can have no hesitation in saying,
that it gave a vast impulse to chemical inquiry.

In 1671> his health, ever very delicate, received a severe shock
from a paralytic disease. He, nevertheless, recovered, it is said by the
adoption of a strict regimen, with the help of medical treatment.

Among the very numerous tracts which he every year published,
there was, in 1674, a paper read in the Royal Society on " quicksilver
growing hot with gold," which drew a letter from Newton to caution
him against any premature disclosure on a fact apparently so favour-
able to Alchymy. Mr Boyle seems not altogether to have abandoned
some of these notions more properly appertaining to that visionary
science: this was. however, both natural, and even philosophically just,
in the commencement of a science of which it was the origin. Alchymy
had already produced a rich accumulation of facts, and it was impos-
sible to decide where the true line was to be found between reality
and conjecture. Though it is the spirit of inductive science to ques-
tion nature, by means of experiment and observation, it is plain that
there must be some previous process of conjecture to give the direc-
tion to inquiry. The true principle of conjecture is, that it should be
directed by knowledge ; as, out of ascertained facts, various probabili-
ties arise to exercise the invention and sagacity of the inquirer. Laws
of nature rise slowly to observation, and with them the law of obser-
vation and inference grows both stricter and surer. To venture to
assume these limiting rules prematurely, would have been a fatal error ;
and even still it would be hard to fix the bounds of the unknown, and

44 LITERARY SERIES. [FouRTH

therefore mysterious processes of nature. We cannot affirm that
mankind may not, in the course of half a century, have ascertained
not only numerous new and unknown properties, such as to give an
entirely new aspect to the laws supposed to be those of nature, but
have discovered results which must be concluded to indicate further
elementary laws as yet unknown. But there is a sound rule, of which
we shall have much occasion to speak further — it is this; that there is
a certain perceptible analogy in the operations of nature, which it is
chimerical and visionary to depart from, but within which the utmost
latitude of conjecture may and even must be allowed, even to the
apparent verge of extravagance. A known operation, working accord-
ing to an ascertained law, may, according to this principle, be carried
in experiment to any extreme length against which human ignorance
has set up its canon of prejudice; because, in fact, there is nothing
can be pronounced impossible, unless for some specific reason on the
most rigidly ascertained grounds. On the other hand, to violate this
analogy would be to take improbability for the guide of science ; to
neglect it would be to take chance, and drift upon the ocean of non-
existence. The reader of these remarks cannot fail to keep in view,
that their application is not to the grounds of strict inference, which,
to have any value, must be derived by the strictest reasoning from the
most rigid facts; but to the grounds of probable conjecture which is
the guide of trial. In Mr Boyle's day, the founders of modern science
might justly entertain a salutary terror against the visions of the em-
pirical philosophy, founded as they were upon a mixture of supersti-
tion, lawless fancies, traditionary dogmas, crude hypotheses, and pre-
mature generalizations. And as human reason is ever oscillating to
extremes, the new impulse would naturally lead the followers of
Galileo and Bacon to take a narrow basis for their views in science;
and in departing from the visionary fields of the old hermetic science,
leave behind some solid and valuable truths. Looking on the subject
•with these reflections, we are rather led to admire the tempered and
considerate spirit of Mr Boyle, than to qualify his character by the
admission of an enthusiasm for the occult and mystical, which seems
to have tinged his zeal and led him further into speculative inquiry
than he would have gone in the next generation. With or without
such a qualification — the extent, variety, and soundness, of his inves-
tigation, placed natural philosophy on a firm and broad foundation,
and gave the great impulse, from which numerous inquiries of far
less genius have since obtained higher celebrity.

The very titles of some of his works convey the sound election with
which he observed the errors and obstructions of human inquiry,
which impeded, and even still, in some measure, continue to impede
natural science. Of this nature may be specified his " Free Inquiry
into the vulgar notion of Nature;" and his "Disquisition into the final
causes of natural things, and with what caution a naturalist should
admit them."

It appears that several of his writings were lost by various causes,
among which there occurs one not now very easy to apprehend. It is
stated by himself, that he had lost numerous manuscripts by the sur-
reptitious depredation of visitors. In 16S6, he published some state-

PERIOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 45

ments of the various obstacles he had met with, and the difficulties
which he had encountered in the publication of his writings. This is
now chiefly important as one of the numerous indications of a state of
literature altogether different from that of more recent times. It is
now not very far from the truth to say, that the universal sense of
literary men is one which would suggest an apology of an opposite
purport from that of Mr Boyle's ; and indeed, there are few prefaces
which do not contain some implication of the kind. A modern writer
may perhaps feel, with some reason, that he has to account for the
public appearance, in which the public is but little or not at all inter-
ested: but Mr Boyle felt the solemn duty of one to whom it was com-
mitted to enlighten and instruct an age of great comparative igno-
rance. His apology indicates the entire absence of those sentiments of
egotism and arrogance, of which such an apology might now be re-
garded as the language. But it is to be admitted that, in this respect,
the claim of the scientific inquirer yet stands upon a peculiar ground ; the
successful prosecutor of discoveries must always possess a claim upon
the mind of his age: he owes something to the world, and the world
something to him — he stands apart, because he is in advance of his
age — his appeal is the assertion of a duty, not the boast of a merit,
or a demand for the admiration of the world. Such claims as Mr
Boyle had to the respect and gratitude of his age, were then accom-
panied by much anxiety, and the sense of a jealous and earnest com-
petition. The whole structure of science was to be built — and as the
ignorance of nature had, till then, been occasioned by an entire per-
version in the method and direction of the human mind — there was a
wide waste of obvious phenomena which lay upon the surface, ready to
offer themselves to the first glances of rightly directed inquiry. It
was a consequence that, among the philosophers of the age, there was
a jealous competition. In this was, then, first displayed that unscru-
pulous disregard to truth and justice, which has in so many instances
disgraced foreign philosophers, who have shown an unpardonable
readiness to appropriate the inventions and discoveries of English
science. The reader will recollect the great controversy concerning
the fluxionary or differential calculus, of which this was the period.
Similarly, Mr Boyle had to complain of numerous instances in which
he was the object of similar frauds. Many copied his writings without
any citation of authority, or stated his experiments in their books as
if they had made them themselves.

A life of indefatigable research and study could not fail to affect
the extremely delicate constitution of Mr Boyle. Great temperance,
and continual caution which is mostly enforced by so tender a frame,
had perhaps made the most of his strength. But he at last, felt it due
to science, and essential to his ease and health, to restrict his labours,
and to avoid all superfluous engagements. He seems to have been
deeply impressed with that sense of the value of time which belongs
to those who have great and permanent objects of pursuit, and an
earnest desire to accomplish the truer and worthier ends of existence.
The broad ocean of discovery, too vast for even the contemplation of
the highest human reason, or for the mind of ages, lay yet untried in
all its magnificent expanse before his mind's eye: he could anticipate

4G LITERARY SERIES. [FoUUTH

numerous tracts of research, and doubtless conceive numerous splendid
results, which human life would be short to follow or attain. Such a
sense is more penurious of its hours than the miser of his gold: the
gold may be accumulated, but the measured moments can neither be
increased nor recalled. As most men live, it is true that an hour
gained or lost would be but a little more or less of a useless commodity ;
while to one like Boyle it was truly more than wealth could compen-
sate: some such sentiment suggested the aphorism of Bacon, ars longa,
vita brevis. Mr Boyle, whose labours were the practical illustration
of Bacon's philosophy, left also an illustrious example of the strictest
economy of time. Zealous in the pursuit of important truths, he saw
that, with his diminished energies, and diminishing days, it was
necessary to cut off all superfluities, and avoid all uncalled-for waste
of time and labour. With this view he ceased drawing up those for-
mal communications to the Royal Society, which but interrupted the
business of investigation, led to premature discussion, and broke iu
upon the settled frame of his thoughts. With much regret he re-
signed his office of governor to the corporation for propagating the
gospel in New England. He published an advertisement declining
the numerous visits to which his great celebrity exposed him; and put
up a board to indicate the hours when he could receive those whom
he could not, or would not, refuse to see. For these he set apart two
mornings and two evenings in each week.

He availed himself of the leisure thus obtained, not only to pro-
secute his important investigations, but to repair the loss of many
valuable papers, and to put the whole in a more convenient and sys-
tematic order.

In 1691, Mr Boyle's health, which had never been strong, began to
give way to such an extent, that he concluded it full time to prepare
for his end, and executed his last will. The rapid indications of a
failure of the powers of life increased through the summer, and in
October were so far advanced that no hope remained of any very de-
cided restoration. His decline was considered to have been accelerated
by his extreme concern about the illness of his dear sister, the lady
Ranelagh, with whom he had ever lived on terms of the tenderest at-
tachment. And as they had been united through life, they were
not to be painfully disunited by the grave. Lady Ranelagh died
on the 23d of December, 1691; and on the 30th of the same mouth,
she was followed by her brother: a man who, if regard be had to the
combination of high philosophic genius, moral worth, and genuine
Christian goodness, has not been equalled, in any known instance, in
succeeding generations. Holding a foremost place among the philo-
sophers of that age, he was equally prominent, and still more deserv-
ing of veneration and honour as a Christian. With a spirit too wise
to desire the adventitious honours which had been showered, with a
liberal hand, on all the members of his family, and were pressed by
royal favour on his acceptance — he refused to obscure with a title that
name which continues to be the grace and ornament of the records of
a family which has produced many persons of worth and public dis-
tinction.

He was, in a high degree, instrumental in the propagation of the

PEIUOD.] THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE. 47

gospel: for tins purpose his influence and fortune were used with
energy and perseverance. He spent £700 upon the Irish translation
of the Bible — of which he sent 500 copies into Ireland, and 200 into
the highlands of Scotland. He also had printed, at his own expense,
3000 catechisms and prayer-books, for the highlands — of which the
spiritual welfare had been deplorably neglected. He gave £300 for
spreading the gospel in America.

We have already mentioned his foundation of a lecture for the de-
fence of revealed religion, of which the object was thus expressed:
" To be ready to satisfy real scruples, and to answer such new objec-
tions and difficulties as might be stated, to which good answers had
not been made," &c. The fruits of this noble institution have been
rich : such men as Bentley, Harris, Clarke, Whiston, and Butler, form
a constellation of bright lights in the train of the noble founder; and,
doubtless, far more illustrious has been the result which lies beyond
the estimate of human praise — " the turning of many to righteous-
ness;" for, considering that such minds are endowed by heaven, and
such efforts commanded to man, we cannot suppose them to be ineffec-
tually employed. But we may here pause to dwell on the characteris-
tic sagacity which planned such a lecture. In any other department
of knowledge it might be presumed that one full statement of an argu-
ment, of which all the facts are so long and so fully known as those of
Christianity, might be enough to put an end to all doubts and further
arguments in one way or another. But the natural aversion of irreli-
gious minds to the gospel has the very peculiar, though obviously
natural effect, of leading men to find arguments to satisfy themselves
with a perfect ignorance of its nature, facts, and evidences. There is a dis-
like to be convinced, peculiar to this one great argument : and hence the
fertility of human invention in devising such arguments as may shut
out all chance of disturbing the illusions of scepticism ; that is, all such
arguments as are independent of the question itself, and are, therefore,
without limit. A curious consequence of this is, that every genera-
tion has brought forth its own peculiar form of infidelity ; some argu-
ment of which the absurdity has become too manifest to be relied upon,
even by the sceptics of the next. This curious illustration of the real
elementary principle of scepticism, seems to have been contemplated
in Mr Boyle's foundation.

As a philosopher, there is now some difficulty in doing strict justice
to Boyle. His writings have been superseded by the completion, or
the far advance which has been made in those branches of natural
philosophy to which he mainly applied his attention. But it will be
enough to say, that all the most eminent inquirers in the same track; —
such as, for instance, Priestley — have spoken of him as the founder of
the important science of pneumatics. The testimonies of foreign phi-
losophers are also numerous and important. He was, in England, the
first follower of Bacon; and, though the branches of science which he
cultivated by no means claim so high a rank, yet he may be called
the predecessor of Newton, and that illustrious host of mathemati-
cians who commenced and brought to perfection the noblest structure
of knowledge that has been, or can be attained, by human powers.
He must be viewed as the most eminent man in England, among those

48 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

•who effected a great revolution in human knowledge; which was no
less than a transition from the scholastic to the experimental schools —
from mere words to facts. Of this great change the beginnings are,
doubtless, to be traced to previous generations and other countries ;
but it would lead to wide digression to say more here upon a topic
which we shall have frequent occasions to notice more at large.

We shall, therefore, conclude this sketch of Boyle, by a mere enu-
meration of his scientific writings. They are as follow: —

1. " New Experiments, Physico-Mechanical, touching the Spring
of the Air, and its Effects, 1660." 2. "Sceptical Chemist, 1662;"
reprinted in 1679; with the addition of Divers Experiments. 3. " Cer-
tain Physiological Essays and other Tracts, I6til." 4. " Considera-
tions touching the Usefulness of Experimental Philosophy, 1663."
5. " Experiments and Considerations upon Colours, 1663." 6. "New
Experiments upon Cold, 1665." 7. " Hydrostatical Paradoxes, 1666."
8. " Origin of Forms and Qualities, according to Corpuscular Philo-
sophy, 1666." 9- "The Admirable Refractions of the Air, 1670."
10. "The Origin and Virtue of Gems, 1672." 11. "The Relation
between Flame and Air, 1672." 12. " On the Strange Subtilty, Great
Efficacy, &c., of Effluvia, 1673." 13. "The Saltness of the Sea,
Moisture of the Air, &c., 1664." 14. "On the Hidden Qualities of
the Air, 1674." 15. " The Excellence, &c., of the Mechanical Hypo-
thesis, 1674." 16. " Porosity of Bodies, 1684." 17. " Natural His-
tory of Mineral Waters, 1684." 18. " Experimenta et Observationes
Physicse, 1691," which was the last work published during his life.
But two posthumous works afterwards were published, viz., " Natural
History of Air, 1692;" and "Medicinal Experiments, 1718."

CBtoatrafets.

DOUN A.D. 1628. DIED CIRC. A.D. 1690.

THE claim of Mr Greatrakes to our notice is very peculiar, and such
as, considering the very justifiable prepossessions of the reasonable
class of men against all pretensions to which the term of quackery has
been, or can be applied — it will, perhaps, be in some degree hazardous
to notice with the equitable spirit of philosophic indifference. The
great celebrity which he obtained in his day is, perhaps, characteristic
of that day. It extended from the hut of the Irish peasant to the
court of England, and furnished matter for wonder and discussion to
philosophers and universities. But we are happy to seize the occasion
which is thus offered of discussing an important topic which stands in
some need of sober and impartial comment.

On the incidents of the life of Greatrakes we shall consult the utmost
brevity. He is himself the authority for his early history. He was
born in 1628, and was the son of William Greatrakes, of Affanche, in
the county of Waterford. His mother was a daughter of Sir E.
Harris, knight, and a judge in the king's bench. He was educated
at the free school of Lismore, and designed for the university; but
this destination was frustrated by the great rebellion which broke out

PERIOD.] VALENTINE GIIEATRAKES. 49

in his fourteenth year. He took refuge with his uncle, Mr E. Harris,
who attended to the completion of his education with laudable dili-
gence, and, as he says, " perfected him in humanity and divinity."

At the restoration, Mr Greatrakes was made clerk of the peace for
the county of Cork, and a magistrate, and discharged the duties of
these offices so as to obtain the respect of the district.

In the midst of such avocations, he became suddenly seized with an
impression that he was personally endowed with some healing virtue:
this incident must be related in his own words: — "About four years
since I had an impulse which frequently suggested to me that there
was bestowed on me the gift of curing the king's evil, which for the
extraordinariness thereof, I thought fit to conceal for some time ; but,
at length, I told my wife; for whether sleeping or waking, I had this
impulse; but her reply was, 'that it was an idle imagination.' But,
to prove the contrary, one William Maher, of the parish of Lismore,
brought his son to my wife — who used to distribute medicines in
charity to the neighbours — and my wife came and told me that I had
now an opportunity of trying my impulse, for there was one at hand
that had the evil grievously in the eyes, throat, and cheeks; where-
upon I laid my hands on the places affected, and prayed to God, for
Jesus' sake, to heal him. In a few days afterwards the father brought
his son so changed that the eye was almost quite whole; and to be
brief (to God's glory I speak it), within a month he was perfectly
healed — and so continues."

It is then stated that he proceeded to discover, and to display to the
wonder of the whole surrounding country, a power of healing which
was so great and so evident in its effects as to silence even the scepti-
cism of physicians. And so great became his fame that crowds flocked
around his dwelling, from all parts of the country, and filled his barns
and out-houses with diseases of every kind. His fame soon spread to
England, and he was invited over to cure lady Conway of an obstinate
headache. In England, he was followed by multitudes: he failed to
afford the desired relief to the lady Conway, but was successful in
curing numbers of the poor people.

The practice of Mr Greatrakes was wholly gratuitous, and the
power by which he effected his cures he attributed to a supernatural
gift. In England, such pretensions soon led to public discussion —
in which two parties took opposite views, both in a very high degree
worthy of being noticed, as examples of two unphilosophical modes
of solution which derive considerable importance from the frequency
with which they may be observed to recur in the history of human opinion
— one party at once attributing the cures to some supernatural gift, the
other resolving the difficulty by some conjectural cause. Of these,
the first assumes that all the operations and powers which are termed
natural, are so thoroughly known that anything which cannot be ac-
counted for, or resolved into an effect of some known cause, must be
called supe natural. The other, still more absurd, escapes the diffi-
culty by assigning some known but inadequate cause, which amounts
to no more than giving a name to a thing, and then explaining it by
that name. Thus, while Mr Stubbe wrote a pamphlet, in which he
described the healing power of Greatrakes as a gift bestowed by God,

VOL,, v. D

50 LITERARY SERIES. [Feu inn

and with curious inconsistency described the elementary operation of
the supposed gift — his adversaries attributed it to the power of friction,
neglecting to observe, that if friction had anything to do with the
cures supposed, it must be as the means of setting in motion some
other cause, without a knowledge of which nothing was explained.

Mr Boyle was appealed to, and he appears to have viewed the ques-
tion with the temperate and impartial mind of a philosopher — which
is to be neither hasty to affirm nor deny. He admitted the possibility
of miraculous gifts, because he found no absolute reason to deny it:
but, considering the description of the actual facts, he saw no reason
to class them as miracles : he justly observed, and the observation is very
important, that they were wholly dissimilar from the miracles related
in Scripture. He did not deny that there might be some mechanical
cause, or some healing virtue applicable by the touch of the hand,
especially considering the known powers of the imagination. And he
illustrated his reasoning by examples of cures performed by the im-
mediate and direct effect of this influence.

As subsequent controversies have given very considerable import-
ance to the principles involved in this question, we shall not leave
it without making some general remarks; and in doing this we shall,
to the utmost extent, avoid the slightest leaning to the controverted
opinions of any class of persons. It may be unnecessary to mention,
that the main form in which these considerations have been latterly
involved, has been the great controversy concerning mesmerism; or
as it has been recently termed, animal magnetism.

On the facts, concerning which these questions have arisen, we are
no further acquainted than by hearsay. But as they are not authorita-
tively contradicted, their realitymayfor the present purpose be assumed.
Both parties have, so far as we have had cognizance, joined issue on
the facts, and are at variance upon the law. We only design to notice
here, the errors in reason which they have committed — what may be-
come of the question concerning mesmerism, is a matter of great com-
parative unimportance: it is our object to guard the integrity of reason
which is so apt to suffer grievously in the heat of such disputes.

Against those who have been the assertors or practitioners of mes-
merism, two objections are to be made, neither of which demand much
comment, — that of imposture, and that of premature theorizing. On
the first, we must be very brief: we have not personally had any ex-
perience of the facts commonly alleged; they have been affirmed on
very strong authority, and submitted to every test of which they seem
capable. Some of them appear to admit of no deception. And it
ought to be observed that, among the most intelligent of their opponent*
admissions have been directly or indirectly made, which amount to tlie
concession of all that can be contended for short of idle specul tion
The other charge is, indeed, but too well warranted against both sides ; it
rests on that common infirmity of human reason, which has from the
beginning of time loaded human knowledge with the encumbrance of
idle speculations. The almost universal fallacy of assuming that every
thing known is to be explained by the best conjecture that occurs.
Accordingly, the magnetists have in their tracts upon the subject, so
amply involved their very debatable facts in such idle reasonings as

PERIOD.] VALENTINE GREATRAKES. 51

very much to multiply their vulnerable points, and to raise questions on
which they can be assailed beyond the power of effective defence.
When the ridiculous reason, or the absurd pretence, is exposed, the
multitude, equally shallow in its scepticism as in its credulity, will
easily be induced to overlook the facts. The charge of sleight, or im-
posture, is as effective as any other explanation — it is at least as cheap
as a miracle.

Against the adversaries of the magnetists, the charges to be made
are the hasty denial of facts ; and the opposition of these facts, so far
as admitted, by fallacies and evasions.

Of those who deny facts, simply on the ground that they are im-
possible, or that they have not witnessed them, there is nothing to be
said — they are unreasonable, and not to be met by reason. The most
respectable opponents of mesmerism are those who, admitting the facts
so far as they have been actually ascertained by competent trial and
observation, have considered it as a sufficient argument to silence all
further consideration of the subject, to find a name for them, or to
refer them to some known natural cause; and then take it for granted
that there is nothing further, and assert that the whole matter is
undeserving of further notice.

In the reign of Louis XVI. of France, the question was referred to
a committee of professional men, who completely put an end to the
question for the time, by referring the phenomena to imitation. This
was explained by the fact of that species of sympathy which is known
in numerous cases to take place in the human mind and body. The
argument has been since taken up, and received various improvements
of the same character — nervous influence has been of some use, and
the mere agency of the imagination has been of still more. And,
finally, in our own times, it has been thought full sufficient reason
against the magnetists to say that the phenomena are no more than
disease.

Now, what renders all this deplorably fallacious is, that every one
of these objections may be fully admitted, and still leave every ques-
tion worthy of consideration untouched. Imitation, as an act of the will,
to which it may be referred as a cause, is not the kind of imitation in-
tended: involuntary imitation is but an effect to be accounted for, and
which can explain nothing. If the phenomena are such as to be pro-
perly called imitative, it neither tells nor explains to say that they are
the effects of imitation; this is still but the very fact to be explained.
If, however, a further step is taken towards the discovery of an effi-
cient cause, and that nervous sympathy, or the influence of imagina-
tion be considered as such ; the first point would be to trace the
indications of these several causes in the actual phenomena; when
this is done, it will remain to be proved that anything is gained in
the controversy. The same may be said with greater force of the
objection, that the phenomena in question are nothing but disease.
The answer to all these is, that the phenomena of mesmerism or
magnetism, are altogether independent of any theory by which their
explanation may be attempted: they may be nervous, or some form of
disease ; but, if it can be proved that such facts have real existence,
there is nothing to justify the charge of imposture maintained by

52 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

an explanation, which, if it has any force, proves something different.
Our objection to such a course is this, that a presumed imposture is
resisted by a gross fallacy. Before we leave this part of the subject
we must observe of the methods of solution to which we have here ad-
verted, that many of the alleged facts are such as to exclude altogether
both imitation and imagination, and every other known agency. That
the same facts are justly referred to certain diseased states of the mind
or body, of which they are the known symptoms, presents a different
question on which we have some remarks to offer.

Now, supposing the charge of mere imposture abandoned (as we be-
lieve it to be), by the most reasonable opponents; and the far more just
objection made, that the effects in question are disease — that the prac-
tice is dangerous — and, though not imposture in one sense, yet is a most
pernicious resource in the hands of quacks and other impostors. This
may be very true, and if so cannot be answered. But, in the mean-
time, it does not justify the course which has been followed with regard
10 magnetism. It was not, perhaps, so much amiss in the time of Louis
XVI., when investigation was limited, and authority despotic, to put
down a pernicious practice by any means. But neither conclave,
college, nor court, can now exercise the smallest influence to arrest the
expansive curiosity and intelligence of the human mind — the tricks of
night are too visible in the full daylight of reason. Such ineffectual
opposition can only awaken resistance from the multitudes who wonder
at magnetism, and the few who respect reason. Let the really rational
opponents of magnetic experiments take a more open and philosophic
course.

If the practice of magnetism is really pernicious, this is surely the
practical ground to take against it; but this cannot effectually be taken
by those who treat it as a fiction. Surely they who should have the
leading voice in such a question, have put themselves inadvertently in
a position from which the sooner they extricate themselves the better.

But if the allegations of so many of the most authoritative wit-
nesses are — as we are here taking for granted — really true, there is
a wider view of the subject.

If in any one single case out of a thousand trials — for the number
of failures is of no real importance — any one of the most remarkable
phenomena of mesmerism is actually produced, as a natural pheno-
menon, it is not less worthy of notice and investigation, than if the
trial should succeed in every instance. The small class of facts, thus
observed — supposing no defect in the observation — would be the cer-
tain indications of some principle, or of some process in human nature,
beyond the limit of that circle of cause and effect hitherto ascertained.
Such an extension of our knowledge would be rejected by no true
philosophy. In such a supposition it is vain and absurd to pretend
that all further questions, concerning such facts, must end by referring
them to disease, or imagination, or nerves. None of which causes even
make a seeming approach towards the explanation of the facts. If,
for instance, there is a state of disease in which the patient becomes
cognizant of things existing and passing elsewhere, and not otherwise
known, it may be catalepsy; but it is evident that the symptom indi-
cates some process beyond the ordinary range of human faculties, as

PERIOD.] VALENTINE GREATRAKES. 53

yet otherwise known. It is at once evident that no mental or physical
cause yet distinctly known, named, or classed, in any department of
natural phenomena, can account for it. It cannot be sympathy or
imagination, or nervous affection, in any sense yet intelligibly contained
in these words.

But it may, perhaps, be inexplicable — so is every fact in nature be-
yond some point — but, it is enough that it is, if truly stated, a fact
which extends our knowledge of our intellectual constitution, by prov-
ing that it contains capabilities and provisions which are developed in
certain states of disorder, more powerful in action and range than any
known in health, and wholly different in kind. It surely manifests the
existence of a function, and a capability which extends our knowledge
of the human mind. If disease can develop some new sense, the pro-
vision is probably designed for some use beyond disease by the great
Creator, who can scarcely be presumed to have made so elaborate a pro-
vision for the information of a cataleptic patient.

There is an objection which we have heard with concern and sur-
prise. Some good men have expressed their fear, that the miracles of
the Scripture history might be attributed to animal magnetism. When
we recall the reasonings of the deist, we cannot but admit that such a
fallacy would not be too absurd. The first principle of scepticism is the
confusion of distinctions ; and this, though it would be a most egregi-
ous instance, would not be one of the worst. But such an oversight
can only, for a moment, be indulged iu by those who are in the habit
of arguing on the sacred narrative without having taking the trouble
to look into it ; as the miracles of either the Old or New Testament
are not such as to admit of explanation either by magnetism or any
other natural means — and must be wholly fable, or wholly super-
natural.

As for the cures practised, or supposed to be practised, by Great-
rakes, and others since his time — we believe that, in part, they may
be safely attributed to the influence of the imagination. That they
may also, to some extent, be attributable to the same influence as
animal magnetism operating in some peculiar way, is not unreasonable
to suspect. But, admitting the utmost as to the facts, we see no
ground for the inference of any supernatural influence. It is easy to
see»why such a power, in the possession of an individual, should in
certain circumstances be made available for imposture; but we cannot
admit that imposture is to be best resisted by the weapons of fraud,
or by that more comprehensive class of fallacies which from the
beginning of time have retarded all knowledge. Any delusion which
extensively affects the public mind must, in these days of opinion, be
fairly examined; and when it becomes for any reason worth while
to investigate, it ought to be such a fair investigation as alone can
bear any decided conclusion. It should never be forgotten, on such
occasions, that nothing can be called impossible but that which directly
contradicts itself or some known truth.

We have been led into this discussion by a remark, in which we
agree, made by one of the writers of Mr Boyle's life, in commenting
on the same facts. " It may in the present age, perhaps, be thought
that Mr Boyle ought to have laid more emphasis on the power of

54 LITERARY SERIES. [FouBTII

imagination over organized matter, and the effects of animal mag-
netism or enthusiasm, and rejected altogether the notion of superna-
tural influences."

Greatrakes was himself under the firm, and we believe sincere, per-
suasion, that his power of healing was a supernatural gift. Some
attacked him as an impostor, while others endeavoured to account for
his cures, by the theory of a " sanative contagion in the body, which
has an antipathy to some particular diseases and not to others."
Among other opponents, St Evremond assailed him in a satirical novel.
In the main, however, the most respectable physicians and philosophers
of the time supported him with testimonies, which we should now find
it hard to reject. Among these were Mr Boyle, Bishop Rust, the
celebrated Cudworth, Dr Wilkins, Dr Patrick, &c. The writer of a
brief, but full memoir of Greatrakes in the Dublin Penny Journal,
cites a long letter from lord Conway to Sir George Rawdon, in which
he gives an account of a cure to which he was an eyewitness. The
subject was a leper who had for ten years been considered incurable.
He was the son of a person of high respectability, and brought forward
by the bishop of Gloucester, which makes fraudulent conclusion im-
probable— the cure was immediate. The case is, therefore, as strong
and as well attested as any such case is likely to be.

The celebrity thus attained by Greatrakes in England was very
great. And Charles II. who invited him to London, recommended
him very strongly.

There is, however, no record of the latter part of his life. He is
traced in Dublin, in 1681, when he was about fifty-three years of age.

BOUN A.D. 1633. DIED A.D. 1G84.

THE ancestry of this nobleman has been already noticed among these
memoirs. He was son to the third earl of Roscommon, and by his
mother, nephew to the illustrious earl of Strafford.

His father had been in the communion of the church of Rome, but
was converted by Usher — so that he was educated as a protestant.
His early years were wholly past in Ireland, and he first visited Eng-
land when his uncle, the earl of Strafford, returned thither from his
government, and carried him over to his seat in Yorkshire, where he
placed him under the care of a Mr Hall, an eminent scholar. It is
mentioned that, from this gentleman, he learned Latin without any
previous instruction in grammar, of which it was found impossible to
make him recollect the rules. The difficulty is, indeed, one of such
frequent occurrence, that it is satisfactory to learn that his lordship
was distinguished for the ease and purity of his Latin — in which he
maintained a considerable correspondence.

The beginning of the civil wars made it unsafe to remain under the
protection of the earl of Strafford, and, by the advice of archbishop
Usher, he was sent to France. There was a Protestant university in
Caen — here he studied for some time under the tuition of Bochart.

PERIOD.] WEXTWORTH DILLON, EARL OF ROSCOMMON. 55

Having completed his course of study, he travelled through Italy,
where he attained considerable skill in medals, and a perfect mastery
of the language. He did not return to England till the restoration —
he was favourably received by king Charles II., and made captain of
the band of pensioners.

His intercourse with the dissolute court of Charles was productive
of a hurtful effect upon his morals, and he abandoned himself for a
time to excesses from which not many recover. He injured his estate
by gambling, and is said to have fought many duels.

Some questions having arisen about a part of his property, he was
compelled to visit Ireland, and resigned his post at court. The duke
of Ormonde, soon after his arrival, made him captain of the guards.
This post he soon resigned under the following circumstances, — as he
was one night returning home from a gaming-house, he was suddenly
set upon by three men, who, it is said, were hired for the purpose.
He slew one of them, and a gentleman who was passing at the instant
came to his assistance and disarmed another, on which the third ran
away. The gentleman who thus seasonably had come to his aid, was
a disbanded officer of excellent reputation, but in a condition of utter
want. The earl, entertaining a strong sense of the important service
to which he probably owed his life, determined to resign his own post
in his favour, and solicited the duke for his permission. The duke
consented, and the gentleman was appointed captain in his place.

He returned to England as soon as the arrangement of his affairs
permitted. There he was appointed master of the horse to the duchess
of York. He soon after married a daughter of lord Burlington.

From the time of his marriage he gave himself to literature, and
became, as the reader is probably aware, one of the distinguished
poets of that time. He was associated with all that was gifted and
brilliant among the wits and poets of the town and court, and was
joined with Dryden in a project for fixing the standard of the English
tongue. The growing interruption of those ecclesiastical disturbances
which had begun to disturb the peace of the kingdom, and, doubtless,
brought serious alarm to a generation which yet retained the memory
of the preaching soldiers of Cromwell — damped the ardour of literary
projects, and made his lordship doubt the safety of England. He re-
solved to pass the remainder of his life in Rome, and told his friends,
that " it would be best to sit next to the chimney when it smoked."
Dr Johnson has observed that the meaning of the sentence is obscure.
We do not think many of our readers will join in this opinion: if any
one should, he has but to call to mind the religious opinions of the
king and his brother, and the projects which the duke was then well
known to entertain for the restoration of the pope's supremacy in
England and Ireland.

The earl's departure was obstructed by a fit of the gout. In his
anxiety to travel, he employed some quack, who drove the disorder
into some vital part; and his lordship died in January, 1684. He was
interred in Westminster Abbey.

The poetry of the earl of Roscommon is no longer known. He
seems, however, to have been the first who conceived any idea of that
correct versification, and that precise and neatly turned line which was

56 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

brought afterwards to a state of perfection by Pope and his followers.
As Johnson has justly said, " He is elegant, but not great; he never la-
bours after exquisite beauties ; and he seldom falls into gross faults. His
versification is smooth, but rarely vigorous; and his rhymes are remark-
ably exact. He improved taste, if he did not enlarge knowledge, and may
be remembered among the benefactors to English literature." He is
also said, by the same great authority, to have been " the only correct
•writer of verse before Addison;" and cites a couplet from Pope, which
pays him the higher tribute of having been the only moral writer in
the licentious court of Charles. His great work was a Metrical Essay
on Translated Verse. He also translated the Arte Poetica, from
Horace. His translation of Dies Irse, is among the happiest attempts
which have been made upon that untranslatable hymn. Many of his
lesser productions have been mentioned with applause.

Mare.

BORN A.D. 1594. DIED AD. 1GC6.

AMONG those to whom Ireland is indebted for the collection and pre-
servation of the most authentic materials for her history, no name can
be placed above that of Ware. And we have to express regret that
we are not more fully informed in the history of his life.

He was born 26th November, 1594, in Castle Street, in the city of
Dublin. His father was auditor-general, with reversion to his son.
At the age of sixteen he entered as a fellow-commoner in the univer-
sity of Dublin: and took bachelor's and master's degrees at the usual
times. The distinction, which he maintained among his fellow-students,
and, above all, the taste he early began to show for the study of anti-
quities, attracted the notice, and gained the friendship, of Usher,
who was at the time professor of divinity in the university. Ware
had early commenced his collections, and Usher's collection and library
were open to him; as also that of Daniel Molyneux, Ulster king-
at-arms.

In 1626, he went to London, and was introduced, by Usher, to
Sir Robert Cotton, who opened to him his valuable and extensive col-
lections and library. He also made laborious researches in the Tower
and other state-paper offices and repositories, from all of which he
obtained large treasures of original and important records — from
which he made copious extracts and copies.

On his return home, he commenced those valuable labours, by which
he is now best known ; and published the first parts of the History of
the Irish Bishops.

His second visit to London was in 1628, when his acquaintance with
Seldon, and other eminent antiquarians, enabled him to enlarge his
collections very considerably. In 1629, on his return to Ireland, he
was knighted by the lords justices. In 1632, his father died, and he
succeeded him as auditor-general. From the lord lieutenant, Went-
worth, he obtained a seat in the privy council.

Though attentive to his public duties, Sir James Ware was not

PERIOD.] SIR JAMES WARE. 57

remiss in the pursuit of his favourite studies. He soon after published
" Spenser's View of the State of Ireland." He was at this time engaged
in collecting accounts of the " Writers of Ireland." His well-known
work under that title, came out in 1639-

In the troubled period which commenced in 1641, his conduct was,
in the highest degree, praiseworthy. The following is the valuable
testimony of the marquess of Ormonde. " Even when his majesty's
affairs were most neglected, and when it was not safe for any man to
show himself for them, he then appeared most zealously and stoutly
for them."

In 1644, ho was sent over to Oxford, as the fittest person to give
the king an account of the state of Ireland, and to receive his com-
mands on the negotiation then in progress. He availed himself of
the occasion for his favourite pursuit. He was honoured by the uni-
versity with a degree of doctor of laws. When returning, with des-
patches from the king, the packet in which he sailed was taken by a
parliament ship. He was sent prisoner to London, and there com-
mitted to the Tower, where he remained for ten months — after which
he was exchanged. He continued, in Dublin, to take a prominent
part in the king's affairs, and was high in the confidence of the mar-
quess of Ormonde. At the surrender of Dublin to the parliamentary
commanders, in 1647, he was demanded as one of the hostages, and,
as such, taken to London. On his return to Dublin his office was, of
course, at an end, and he lived as a private person, until governor
Jones banished him, by an order, to any place beyond seas except
England. Sir James went over to France, where he resided succes-
sively at Caen and in Paris, still occupied with his antiquarian studies.

In 1 65 1 , his private affairs required his presence in England, whither
he came, by parliamentary license ; and, after a couple of years, went
over to Ireland, to visit his estate.

During the whole of this interval, he was busy in the publication of
his works, which were printed in England. The " Antiquities" came
out in 1654; and four years after he published a second and improved
edition.

On the Restoration, he was, at once, reinstated in his office of
auditor-general, by Charles, to whom he had given a large sum of
money in his necessity. At the election of parliament, he was chosen
member for the university. He was, soon after, appointed one of the
four commissioners for appeal in excise cases ; and a commissioner for
the settlement under the king's declaration.

He refused the king's offer of a title; but, according to Harris,
obtained baronetcies for two of his friends.

His "Annals" were published next; and in 1665, the " History of
the Irish Bishops'' came out entire. But death cut short his projects
of literature. He died on the 3d December, 1 666, and was buried in
his family vault in St Werburgh's church.

Several miscellaneous statements are given by Harris and others, of
his uprightness, benevolence, and justice. He always refused his offi-
cial fees from widows, the clergy, and their sons. He lived in a sea-
son of great distress, and exerted himself to the utmost for its relief.
His house and table were a known refuge for the victims of reverse

58 LITERARY SERIES. [FouitTH

and spoliation ; and when he was given possession of some houses and
tenements, forfeited for rebellion, he instantly sent for the widow and
children of the forfeitee, and made a legal conveyance of the premises
in their favour.

His works are known. They have a distinguished place in everj
library which has its shelf for the History of Ireland. They are valu-
able for their brief accuracy, and comprehensive extent — supplying
the place of a guide and faithful sign-post to the student in a vast chaos
of undigested literature. There are few of any real importance
on the subject, of which the main outline will not be found among
Ware's writings, with a happy freedom from theories, for which he
had too little genius, yet too much common sense.

BORN A.D. 1641 DIED A.D. 1711.

DODWELL was born in Dublin in 1641. He was educated in Tri-
nity college, where he obtained a fellowship. He is to be commemo-
rated for his extraordinary erudition, of which Gibbon has observed,
" Dodwell's learning was immense. In this part of history, especially,
nothing could escape him; and his skill in employing them is equal
to his learning." From this most authoritative opinion, it might be
inferred that his writings must have been important for their learning
and extent of research : and such was the fact. He wrote several im-
portant dissertations on chronology. He was a party in the celebrated
dispute on the epistles of Phalaris, and wrote " Two Dissertations on
the Age of Phalaris and Pythagoras ;" with many other works of great
industry and research, which have not now sufficient importance for
any distinct enumeration. He was, like many other great scholars,
not equally gifted with the higher intellectual endowments : his opi-
nions were eccentric, and his reasonings perplexed and inconclusive.
Tillotson, whom he consulted on some of his theological writings,
advised him against their publication, telling him, "such particulars
are so perfectly false, that I wonder you do not perceive the absurdity
of them." On the theology of such a thinker and reasoner it is un-
necessary to dwell. A sufficient estimate of his character as a specu-
lative writer, may, perhaps, not unfairly be formed from the title of
one of his works : " An Epistolary Discourse, proving, from the Scrip-
ture and from the First Fathers, that the Soul is a Principle naturally
mortal; but immortalized actually by the Pleasure of God, to Punish-
ment or Reward, by its Union with the Divine Baptismal Spirit:
Wherein it is proved that None have the Power of giving this Divine
Immortalizing Spirit since the Apostles, but only the Bishops." Pre-
fixed to this was a Dissertation to prove that " Sacerdotal Absolution,
is necessary for the Remission of Sins, even of those who are truly
penitent." Such propositions were sure to draw forth abundance of
refutation, and Dodwell was assailed from many a quarter. He de-
fended himself in numerous tracts, and amply illustrated the saying of
the Preacher, that " in many books there is much folly" — where the

PERIOD.] JOHN TOLAND. 59

student happens to have no wisdom of his own. Such writers as
Dodwell are, indeed, chiefly to be commemorated, as manifesting by
instances, the otherwise very attainable inference, that there is a very
broad distinction between the talents which are available to accumu-
late, and those which can add anything1 to human knowledge. The
eminence of Dodwell demands no discussion of his tenets. He was,
however, conscientious and zealous both in conduct and feeling, and
carried sincerity so far as to sustain the trials to which he was exposed
by his principles. His fellowship was resigned, because he scrupled
to enter into holy orders, as prescribed by the statutes of the college.
He was appointed Camden professor of history in the university of
Oxford; but was deprived, in 16913 on refusing to take the oaths to
the new government, — a fact the more remarkable, as he was, for
some time, chaplain in Holland to the princess of Orange, on the
recommendation of Dr Lloyd, afterwards bishop of Worcester.

After the loss of his professorship, Dodwell retired to the country,
and married at the age of fifty-two. In his retirement, he continued
his literary labours, and produced the most useful and creditable of
his writings, chiefly on the chronology of Roman authors and history.

He died at Shottsbrooke, in his seventieth year, in I7

BORN A.D. 1669. — DIED A.D. 1722.

THE life of Toland derives its entire importance from the perver-
sion of considerable ingenuity and shrewdness for the most pernicious
ends: an eminence which would, nevertheless, not be considered of
itself a sufficient claim to our notice, were he not recommended as one
of the earliest of the modern deists. In this, as in all cases where
the vindication of the first principles of philosophy, social order, or re-
ligious truth, become inextricably connected with the history of an in-
dividual, otherwise obscure, we shall hold ourselves exempt from the
necessity of entering into superfluous details respecting his life, and
direct our main consideration to the full statement and examination of
his opinions.

The following are the main incidents of John Toland's life. He
was born in 1669, at Inis Eogan, in the north of Ireland. His parents
were of the church of Rome. He studied in Glasgow; but, in 1690,
he took the degree of master of arts in Edinburgh. Having changed
from the religion of his early life, he became a dissenter; and, travel-
ling into England, his talent soon attracted the favourable notice of
the dissenters, and he was recommended by some of their principal
divines, as a fit person to become a teacher among them. With this
view he was sent abroad, at the expense of the body which thus adopted
him, to study theology at Leyden. After two years he returned, hav-
ing devoted himself, with exemplary diligence, to his studies, and ob-
tained some reputation for knowledge and ability. He soon retired
to live in Oxford, where he could obtain access to books with facility,
and there entered on the composition of his known work, " Christianity

CO LITEHARY SERIES. [FOURTH

Not Mysterious." On this he was for a considerable time employed,
and it was not published till after his arrival in London in 1696. Its
reception was such as might be well inferred by a sagacious reader
of such a work. Toland had proceeded with caution: he was aware
that by a certain degree of moderation in not pursuing his opinions
to their full lengths, he might not only present a less assailable front
to his opponents ; but that he would even have a large portion of the
nominal Christian world on his side. The world, while its common
sense and its formal respect for truth is shocked by open assaults
upon Christianity, is yet not displeased to have its authority lessened,
and its pure and severe spirit lowered into conformity with the in-
ferior standard which it is willing to adopt. Such was the apparent
tendency of Toland's first attack; and it imposed on many good, and
even upon some wise men. Such deceptions had, however, their
foundation in. the unhappy state of ignorance of the doctrinal system
of scripture which then prevailed. As this ignorance must have failed
to affect the opinions of churchmen, and of the Christian portion of the
community, Toland's book could not escape attacks, and a degree of
reprobation adequate to its real demerits. And such were, in effect,
the consequences. He was immediately assailed with merited severity:
he was refuted in numerous publications, and prosecuted by law. Such
prosecutions require, at least, very strong grounds to render them
not injudicious. In all such cases, it is incumbent on the executive
government to compute, with precision, the amount of the real con-
sequences of the crime, or of the prosecution. It is, perhaps, only
where the law is seconded by public opinion, that such a measure can
ever have its proper consequences. This was not such a case; the
spirit of the hour was in Toland's favour; the zeal for liberty of opi-
nion was high, and that of religious feeling was low; and there was
a temper of mind cultivated, which diverted the understandings of
men like Molyneux and Locke from looking at the matter in its actual
bearings. They looked on Toland, not as a wily foe to truths which
they themselves held in veneration, but as one who, like themselves,
was impatient of the shackles of ancient error, and who stood forth
boldly to place Christianity on the grounds of reason. In their views
also there were errors which it would complicate this memoir to dis-
entangle here — we shall come presently to their exposition.

For a time, and but for a time, Mr Locke was imposed upon by his
own prepossessions and the dexterity of Toland; and he became his
zealous supporter in the storm of opposition. Notwithstanding his
zeal for freedom, and his love of toleration, and some incorrect tenets
— which were, in a measure, the result of his temper of mind and
his times — Mr Locke was soon awake to the dubious pretensions
of the empiric ; he took his part, but was too cautious to admit
him to his intimacy. He was especially offended by the inordinate
vanity 'which seems to have been the characteristic feature of Toland.
Mr Locke's sagacity could not have been long deceived: every one,
who is much conversant with mankind, will at once comprehend, that
there are slight indications in the countenance, manner, gesture, and
language, too fine to be distinctly described, or to find their way into
any record, but which, like characteristic looks, at once strike the

PERIOD.] JOHN TO LAND. 61

knowing observer with a prescient impression of the real character of
the person. And, above all, in such a character as Toland's will pre-
sently appear to have been, these indications are never wanting. The
adventurer is ever marked by some of those fine irregularities of
aspect and manner which are best designated by the term " scampish.''

Toland came over to Dublin, where his fame had preceded him.
He heard his book analyzed, and its intent exposed and refuted in the
pulpit; and was, very generally, encountered with question and con-
troversy. This was, however, rendered personally hurtful by the
manner and temper in which it was met. The overweening vanity of
the man led him to the display of arrogant pretensions, and to a rude and
dogmatic disregard for time, place and person. The caution which,
in some degree, guarded the pernicious absurdities of his book, was
abandoned in colloquial discussion ; and it is probable, too, that nu-
merous unrecorded, but easily inferred, indications in his habits, such
as we have already described, led to a more true and just appreciation
of his real views. He gradually accumulated a body of opinion and
feeling against himself, and the consequence is stated in a letter from
Mr Molyneux to Locke : — " Mr Toland is, at last, driven out of our
kingdom. The poor gentleman, by his imprudent management, had
raised such an unusual outcry, that it was even dangerous for a
man to have been known once to converse with him. This made all
wary men of reputation decline seeing him — insomuch that, at last, he
wanted a meal's meat, as I am told — and none would admit him to
their tables. The little stock of money which he brought to this
country being exhausted, he fell to borrowing from any one who
would lend him half-a-crown; and ran in debt for his wigs, clothes,
and lodgings, as I am informed. And, last of all, to complete his
hardships, the parliament fell on his book — voted it to be burned by
the common hangman — and ordered the author to be taken into
custody by the serjeant-at-arms, and to be prosecuted by the attorney-
general at law. Hereupon he is fled out of the kingdom, and none
here knows where he has directed his course." We consider this
account so far important, as it exhibits the real character of this
wretched man — in whom no small intellectual powers were wasted
and degraded. We are desirous to take the opportunity to illustrate
an important first truth — that there is a nearer connexion than is,
perhaps, generally suspected between moral virtue and right reason.
With this consideration we shall not, however, interrupt our narrative,
as it will find a more convenient place at the end of our memoir,
when every part of the subject will have been distinctly stated.

From Dublin Toland proceeded to take refuge in London. There,
comparatively secure in the obscurity of the throng, he digested the
insults his vanity had sustained, and meditated vindictive attacks on
the Christian religion. His courage was not equal to his resentment.
Not daring to give a direct blow to the object of his malice, he seems
to have projected, from the first, what he considered the safer course.
As he had commenced with a design to overthrow revealed religion
under the pretext of friendship, by placing it in an assailable position,
he next conceived the project of attacking it more directly under the
pretext of arguments apparently unconnected with it. For this pur-

62 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

pose it was easy to find the pretext — the genuineness of the Icon Basi-
like presented precisely the occasion to misrepresent the evidences for
the canon of scripture, without committing him directly on so dangerous
a subject. Of course, however, in a country like England, the re-
motest and most dexterous falsification of the laws of evidence could
not escape, nor could the cowardly artifices of sophistry be long per-
mitted to lurk, under the cover of perfidious insinuation. Toland was
quickly dragged to light by Dr Blackall, afterwards bishop of Exeter.
He had the poverty of spirit to vindicate himself by falsehood, and
asserted that it had been his design, not to attack, but to illustrate and
confirm the canon of the scriptures.

The subject was introduced in the lower house of convocation, and
five propositions were extracted from his former publication, " Chris-
tianity Not Mysterious" — on which the resolution was past, that, " in
their judgment, the said book contained pernicious principles, of dan-
gerous consequence to the Christian religion ; that it tended, and — as
they conceived — was written on a design to subvert the fundamental
articles of the Christian faith," &c. The resolution, of which this is
a portion, was reported to the upper house, and it passed a resolution
to prosecute the author. This course was prevented by the opinion
of the law authorities consulted upon the occasion, that the convocation
could not act without a license from the king. Toland had the
weakness to triumph in such an escape ; and, drawing the conclusion
that he might now proceed more boldly, he began more freely to avow
his genuine views.

It does not appear to us in any way necessary to waste our fast-
contracting space, in detailing the political adventures of Toland. He
was a political pamphleteer of great expertness and talent; and his
character and abilities found their most appropriate level in party in-
trigue. Had the elements of his moral temper been of a higher and
firmer order, and his career exclusively that for which his talents
qualified him, we might, happily, have here a different and more
agreeable duty to discharge. But in the actual case, he has no claim
upon us but as a deist mischievous in his generation.

A brief statement of some otherwise unimportant facts, may, however,
be very available for our main purpose. Toland appears in two charac-
ters distinct in themselves. We think it a part of our task to identify
them. There is a truth of much general application, which should be
here observed. On every side, in all great questions in which principle is
involved, both parties will find zealous support from persons of extreme,
and, therefore, pernicious and false views. Thus, as we shall find
order and religion often maintained by prejudice and official corrup-
tion, so will the intriguer for license appear among the advocates for
liberty. There is, therefore, no deduction to be made from the unfa-
vourable portrait we would here draw for Toland, that his political
principles place him among the constitutional ranks of the whigs of
1690. The ability of his pamphlets gave him a momentary impor-
tance. His " Anglia Libera" was published in 1701, upon the passing
of the act of settlement; and when the earl of Macclesfield was sent to
Hanover with a copy of the act to the electoral family, whose succession
was thus secured, Toland accompanied him, and the earl presented his

PERIOD.] JOHN TOLAND. 63

book to the princess Sophia. He was, consequently, received with
all the favour due to a zealous and useful supporter of the succession :
he remained for some weeks at court, and, on his return, was dismissed
with presents and honours, among which were portraits of the mem-
bers of the electoral family. He visited Berlin, with such favourable
recommendations, as gave him there, also, access to the court. Such
advantages, with the useful talents which he unquestionably possessed,
placed him on a footing from which a man of high masculine virtues would
have scarcely failed to rise to eminence, and such honours and promo-
tions as are the main objects of public life. But the person Avho can
be used in services of doubtful respectability is, for obvious reasons,
not likely to be raised to a higher sphere of action: there are those
whose perceptions of the difference between the lofty and the mean
are so obtuse, that their ambition will seldom fail to rush upon courses
of low subserviency as the paths of advancement, and become the use-
ful and despised servants of firmer and prouder spirits. Such a man
we see all reason to pronounce Toland. His pen was employed by Mr
Harley, and he obtained the character of being employed by him as a
spy. The imputation sits at least consistently upon his character, as
known by all the earlier known incidents of his life. Indeed, upon
Toland the character reflects no discredit, and it is only important for
the lesson which we have endeavoured to point out; — he had the talents
and opportunities which gave a different kind of importance to the
characters of Swift, Steele, and Addison. If, however, it were worth
while to reason out the allegation, it is to be observed, that there is
strong confirmation, in a variety of ascertained particulars, which mark
the habits and relations acquired in a course of active political intrigue.
Without having attained reputation or honourable promotion, Toland
was evidently in the use and possession of the underhand avenues and
approaches, which enabled him to assume the pretence of an influence
which he did not possess, and to act as a place-broker for others. This
is not, however, intended to be charged wholly to fraudulent intent. His
inordinate vanity led him to exaggerate his importance, — he was use-
ful, and thought himself important. Deficient in the fine and lofty
instincts of more elevated minds, Toland could walk with unconscious
vanity in degrading ways, and glory in positions where others would
be ashamed.

In the course which may be thus generally described he spent seve-
ral years, — most successful as a pamphleteer, employed by statesmen,
and rewarded by profuse gifts and remunerations, — passing also through
a great variety of vicissitudes and adventures, of which there is no
record but the evidence of vaguely described results. In 1718, he
seems at last to have subsided into the philosopher again — the spirit of
his youth returned, and he began to publish a continuation of the series
of writings for the sake of which we notice him here. In 1725, his
"Pantheisticon " appeared, in which it plainly appears, that the opponent
of those mysteries which are made known by revelation, may have no
objection to mysteries of his own invention. The following is a speci-
men:— " In mundo omnia suntunum; unumque eat omne in omnibus;
quod omne in omnibus Deus est ; oeternus ac immensus, neque genitus
neque interiturus. In eo vivimus, movemus, et existimus. Ab eo na-

64 LITERARY SERIES. [FouRTH

turn est unumquidgue, in eumque denuo reverturum" Such is tlie
statement of what may be regarded as the fundamental tenet of the
sect of Pantheists — the blasphemous and atheistic society to which
Toland belonged. Its entire want of distinct meaning, is such as to
suggest the anxious question, — why it is that those who reject the plain
and forcible evidences of the Christian religion, can be imposed upon
by such senseless absurdity. The answer is complicated with nume-
rous considerations; among which is the important fact, that deism
is not founded either on the use, or even the abuse of reason, although,
in common with all the errors and crimes of men, it is thought important
to plead so imposing a sanction; and hence appears the very common phe-
nomenon of persons disclaiming what they would call the impositions of
priests and sects, on the alleged ground of the same want of sense andrea-
bonable ground, which is truly and glaringly perceptible in those creeds
and philosophies which they set up for themselves. But the secret is made
far more apparent from the direct comparison of that which they follow
and that which they reject. The religion which would " mortify the
deeds of the body," may, in the present instance, be weighed against
the pantheism described by Toland. Pantheism, on the authority of
a pantheist, was the elevation of every vice into a virtue, by the only
means in which human reason could be forced into a sanction — the
adoption of unintelligible tenets to perplex the understanding — and,
under pretence of reason, set common sense aside. The pantheists
were a bacchanalian society, which met to participate in the most
frantic follies and indulgences, and encourage each other into a defiance
of all restraints of conscience. At those meetings, it was customary
to have authorities for atheism brought forward, and passages read
out of such ancient writers as might seem to favour the same object.
Thus, indeed,' — and it is but one of a class, of similar cases, — the very
religious feelings implanted in the human breast are converted into
a barrier against religion itself.

Toland's book was published at the call of hunger. He had dropped
into poverty and neglect; he had been used and abused; and, like all
such tools, thrown aside. He was compelled to write a book, not for
sale, but to levy a contribution on charity. The subject readiest to
his understanding, and nearest to his heart, was the raving impiety of
pantheism. The book was privately circulated among such persons as
could be prevailed upon to make it the excuse for their benevolence.
Among its purchasers, it may be presumed that the greater number
were ignorant of the real nature of the book.

Toland was living in London in the winter of 1722, when he fell so
ill as to be compelled to have recourse to medical advice. The treat-
ment he received was not successful, and he left his physician and re-
tired to Putney, where he had long been accustomed to pass his sum-
mers. Here, for a time, he recovered his strength so far as to be
enabled to write " A Dissertation upon the uncertainty of Physic, and
the danger of trusting our lives to those who practise it." He soon,
however, found that it was not impossible to die without a doctor's
help; and, after a short and tedious illness, expired in March, 1722.

We approach, with some reluctance, the discharge of our critical
duty in the estimate of the literary character of Toland. The space

PERIOD.] JOHN TOLAND. 65

which he occupies in the history of literature belongs less to any
claim of splendid ability or extensive acquirement, than to that false
reputation which may be easily acquired by the meanest talents, when
employed in the service of a reigning folly or a popular delusion ; and
most, perhaps, of all, in the support of any of those forms of unbelief
which have their origin in the perversions of human nature. Any
empiric — and such are the infidel writers from first to last — who will
undertake to release men from the terrors and restraints of the law of
God, as declared by himself, and substitute in its place some specious in-
vention, of a kind more accommodating to sin, is sure of all the support
that the worst dispositions of mankind can venture to give. To acquire
eminence in the senate, at the bar, in the chair of science, is no easy
matter, — but it is easy to rise to the vicious eminence of an apologist
for vice or folly ; and what but such a facility can account for Deism,
and the fame of its most eminent professors? If, on any other subject
of study which lies within the compass of their power, such reasoners
. as Herbert, Shaftesbury, and Spinoza, with their long train of jarring
sectaries in folly, had appeared, — not even the splendour of eloquence,
the original nerve and vein of thought, or the utmost dexterity of per-
version, could for an hour impose on the meanest understanding capable
of the perusal of such writings. If they had so reasoned on municipal
law, on political economy, on mathematics, or on astronomy, — replete
as the history of human knowledge is with error, — it would at once
be seen that they were gratuitous in their data, evasive and sophistical
in their reasonings, and all irreconcilably at variance among them-
selves. On no other subject but revealed religion will the most
coarse and palpable contradictions pass; or the most current and
practical observation and experience which govern in all other things,
be flippantly denied. Hundreds of persons may be met indeed in the
public-room of a stagecoach hotel who pretend to have no acquaint-
ance with history, or law, or science, or any branch of human know-
ledge beyond some low calling; and yet, if the subject of Christianity
should by accident be introduced, will shake their heads, smile sar-
donically, and rise to the dignity of philosophers. To these the
mission of a man, like Toland, will always be an avatar of living in-
spiration. And though, happily, there is a predominance of respect
for known truth, and a reverence for the rock-built structure of our faith
which will combine against such men all that is respectable in society;
yet he will not want a congregation. It is also a truth, applicable in
this place, that artifice holds as large a place in the proceedings of the
deist, as sophistry — to be heard by christians, he will profess to be a
Christian — when .Satan preaches it will be in a garb of light, and
perhaps not without interpretations of holy writ, Toland, like
Herbert and Shaftesbury, set out with the profession of Christianity —
like these eminent men to whom, indeed, the comparison is no com-
pliment, he professed friendship, in order to betray. It is curious to
observe how the character of Judas has been transmitted.

First assuming the character of a Christian writer, and falling in
with the notions of a sect favourable to his purpose, he wrote a book
full of craft, and in the highest degree calculated to deceive. At that
time it was too usual in the pulpit to hear Christianity divested of its

VOL. V. E

60 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

doctrines, and reduced to the ethical system which should have its true
source in those doctrines — this also favoured the craft of Toland. There
were then — as there are still — vast numbers of professing christians
•who, without denying the authority of Divine revelation, thought very
little ahout it; and who, adopting the ethical system of their preachers,
were virtually no more than deists with a Christian morality. All this
afforded great facility for Toland's attack — it was substantially no
more than an assault upon quarters which there was no very general
zeal to defend. To the professing Christian, ignorant of the elemen-
tary foundations of his creed, and mainly anxious to take the ground
which was most conformable to his inclinations — it would not be un-
welcome to have an assurance which lowered the standard of faith,
and stripped Christianity of all but that which it has in common with
worldly wisdom and virtue. Toland met these dispositions in a work
in which he attempted to prove that Christianity has no mysteries, as
it could not be believed that God would impose upon his creatures a
faith in things which they could not by nature understand. Such a
sophism can hardly be conceived to deceive its author, and is but a
proof of dishonesty of purpose. If God had required that man should
understand that which he had made him incapable of understanding,
the argument would have some force. Or if it could be proved from
experience, that no fact could be believed until it was first clearly ex-
plicable by the understanding, still there would follow some conclu-
sion. But Toland's proof amounts to the lowest equivocation between
belief and understanding. Man believes much, and understands little.
And there are few things indeed, and those only human inventions for
which he has the evidence which Toland would require for the truths of
Scripture. That there should be things existing beyond the narrow
limits of human sense is in no way improbable — that these things may be
unintelligible to one who understands so little, is as obvious to reason
— that a being who 5s to exist in another state may be in some way
concerned in such things, is not liable to any rational objection — that
God, the ruler of both states, should reveal them, seems a consequence
— that the authority of God should be the surest proof, cannot be de-
nied— and the argument of Toland is, of course, absurd. The question
which meets him, and every deist who has straitness of intellect enough
to see it, is, as to the immediate authentication of Divine authority.
Accordingly, in a subsequent work, he made a very similar attack
upon the canon of the Scriptures, under the pretence of discussing a
wholly different question. We may, however, dismiss the subject.
Christianity has two classes of assailants, of which one must never pass
without especial notice; the other may be left to those who are pro-
fessionally engaged in the maintenance of sacred truth: sophisms
which have their foundation in the common infirmity of human reason,
and which, without study or prompting, are forever renewed, ought to be
resisted in every quarter. But attacks on the canon of Scripture demand
a degree of study which, when any honest understanding applies to
the subject, such attacks must be soon relinquished. The best works
on testimony, as being the most irrefragable in their reasonings, are
those on the canon of Scripture.

pERIOD.] GEORGE FARQUHAR. 67

William i&rounfcer, Utecount

BORN A.D. 1620. - DIED A.D. 1684.

THIS eminent mathematician should have appeared at a somewhat
earlier period of our labours. The particulars of his life, on record,
are few. He was born in 1620 — of his education we can only ascer-
tain that it was irregular, but that, following the bent of his genius,
he applied himself with zeal to mathematical science, and early ob-
tained a high reputation among the most eminent philosophers of his
day. On the incorporation of the Royal Society, he was elected pro
tempore, the first president, and continued, by successive election, to
fill this exalted station for fifteen years. During this period he con-
tributed some important papers to the Transactions. To him is due
the honour of the first idea of continued fractions. He also first
solved some ingenious problems in the Indeterminate Analysis. Among
his papers, in the " Transactions," the most remarkable are " Experi-
ments concerning the recoiling of Guns; and a series for the quadra-
ture of the Hyperbola."

He was appointed chancellor to the queen, and keeper of her seal —
was one of the commissioners for executing the duties of lord high
admiral. In 1681, he obtained the mastership of St Katherine's
Hospital, near the Tower. He died at his house, in St James' Street,
April 5, 1684, and was buried in a vault which he had built for him-
self in the choir of the hospital.

BORN, A.D. 1678. — DIED, A.D. 1707-

FARQUHAR was the son of a clergyman, and was born in Londonderry
in 1678. He is said to have manifested early proofs of dramatic
genius. He entered in the university of Dublin, in 1694; and, for
some time, showed both industry and talent, but soon fell into a course
of dissipation. The result was a total relaxation in his studies, and,
if the account which has been given of his expulsion from college be
true, he must have, for some time at least, fallen very low into the
depraved levities, to which the young are liable when too soon set free
from parental control. His class had been given an exercise on a
sacred subject, which Farquhar having neglected until he was called
upon in the hall, or perhaps in his tutor's apartment ; he then proposed
to acquit himself by an extemporaneous exercise. The proposal was
allowed, and he wrote or uttered a jest at the same time so wretched,
indecent, and blasphemous, that we cannot here make even an allusion
to its monstrous purport. We are, indeed, inclined to disbelieve a
story of such silliness and depravity; but, if it really occurred, it would
serve to exemplify a mind so far gone from every sense of respect and
decency, as for a time at least to have forgotten their existence in

68 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

others ; for it is said that Farquhar was disappointed at the failure of
a witticism which could only have been tolerated in the last stages of
drunkenness, to elicit the approbation of sober and religious men.

The narrative of this strange account relates that, in consequence
he was expelled, tanquam pestilentia hujus societatis, from the uni-
versity. The walks of professional life, which are the general aim of
academic study, were thus closed against him, and he took refuge upon
the stage for which he had in the meantime contracted a strong taste.
He had formed an intimacy with Wilks, a well-known English actor,
at the time engaged in Dublin, and by his interposition obtained an
engagement. His debut was favourable, and he continued for a short
time on the stage, until he had the ill fortune to wound a brother actor
very severely in playing a part in Dryden's play of the Indian emperor.
The accident was occasioned by his having inadvertently neglected
to change his sword for a foil, in a scene in which he was to kill his
antagonist. He was so much shocked that he resolved at once to
abandon the stage as an actor.

His friend Wilks was at the time engaged by Rich to play in
London. Farquhar accompanied him — and there is reason to presume,
that he must have previously made up his mind to try his fortune and
genius as a dramatic writer. He had also the good fortune to become
acquainted with the earl of Orrery, who gave him a lieutenancy in his
regiment.

In 1698, he brought out his comedy of " Love in a Bottle," which
was acted with applause. In 1700, he produced his "Trip to the
Jubilee," and obtained well-merited popularity by the character of Sir
Harry Wildair. This celebrated comedy had a run of fifty-three
nights, and gained a reputation for Wilks in the principal character
not inferior to that of the author. The same year Farquhar paid a
visit to Holland, where he obtained the notice due to his celebrity.
Among the incidents of this visit, he mentions an entertainment given
by the earl of Westmoreland, at which king William was a guest.

By the influence of Farquhar, that well-known actress, Mrs Oldfield,
was first introduced to the London boards in her sixteenth year. Her
success was promoted by a drama brought out in 1701 by her pro-
tector, in which she obtained very distinguished applause. This was
the year of Dryden's death — and Farquhar gives a description of his
funeral in one of his letters. The following year he published his
letters, essays, and poems, which are replete with all the peculiar
qualities of his mind. Among these letters there is one in which he
gives to his mistress, Mrs Oldfield, a very characteristic description
of himself. " My outside is neither better nor worse than Creator
made it ; and the piece being drawn by so great an artist, 'twere pre-
sumption to say there were many strokes amiss. I have a body quali-
fied to answer all the ends of its creation, and that's sufficient. As to
the mind, which, in most men, wears as many changes as their body, so
in me 'tis generally dressed in black. In short, my constitution is very
splenetic, and my amours, both which I endeavour to hide lest the
former should offend others, and the latter incommode myself; and my
mind is so vigilant in restraining these two failings, that I am taken
for au easy-natured man by my own sex, and au ill-natured clown by

PERIOD.] GEORGE FARQUHAR. 69

yours. I have little estate but what lies under the circumference of my
hat; and should I by misfortune lose my head, I should not be worth
a groat. But I ought to thank Providence that I can, by three hours'
study, live one and twenty, with satisfaction to myself, and contribute
to the maintenance of more families than some who have thousands a
year."

In 1702, "the Inconstant" appeared with less than his usual suc-
cess : this is accounted for by the circumstance of a change in the
public taste in favour of the Italian opera. The same year he became
the dupe of a female adventurer, who took a violent fancy to him, and
determined to obtain him for a husband by an unprincipled stratagem,
which, perhaps, loses much of its disgusting character when viewed
in reference to the lax morals of the period, and the depraved lessons
of the stage, in which Farquhar had his ample share. Knowing that
he was not to be won without money, the female of whom we speak
caused reports of her ample fortune to be circulated in every quarter
which best suited her design. And, in the same way, it was conveyed
to the vain poet's ear, that she had become desperately in love with
him. Farquhar, who was utterly devoid of discretion, at once fell
into the snare: the double bait was more than vanity and poverty
could withstand. He married his fair ensnarer, and was, of course,
undeceived not very satisfactorily — such a practical exemplification of
his art he must have considered as bordering too nearly upon the
tragic. But it was among the lessons of his pen, and in the habitual
contemplation of his mind more nearly allied to the wit of the comic
author, than to the baseness of the actual reality. Farquhar too, was
not one to brood over an injury, or to reflect very seriously on any-
thing: if he was shocked, it was only for a moment, and he easily for-
gave the trick; and is said to have always after conducted himself
with affection and kindness to his wife.

In 1 704, he produced the " Stage Coach," a farce, with the assist-
ance of a friend. In the following year " The Twin Rivals" appeared;
and in 1706, "The Recruiting Officer," of which he is mentioned to
have collected the materials on a recruiting party in which he was
employed for his regiment, in Shrewsbury. Captain Plume, in this
farce, is supposed to represent the author himself, and Serjeant Kite
his serjeant.

The " Beaux Stratagem" completes the list of his works. It still
holds a high place in the list of what is called genteel comedy; we
know not whether it yet retains any place on the stage, but it was a
favourite in the early part of the present century. He died before its
appearance — a prey to grief and disappointment, owing to great dis-
tress of circumstances, and, it is said, the perfidy of his patron. This
nobleman, when applied to in the hour of need, persuaded him to re-
lieve himself by the sale of his commission, and promised to obtain
another for him very soon. The advice was followed, but the promise
was forgotten; and Farquhar was so heavily affected by the painful
feelings occasioned by such a complicated affliction he never again held
up his head, but died in April, 1707, in his twenty-ninth year. He left
two daughters in a state of entire destitution ; but they were befriended
by Wilks, his first and last earthly friend, to whom a very pathetic

70 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

appeal was found among his papers after his death: it was the follow-
ing brief note : —

" DEAR BOB,

" I have not anything to leave thee to perpetuate

my memory but two helpless girls; look upon them sometimes, and
think of him that was to the last moment of his life thine,

"GEORGE FARQUHAR."

Wilks obtained a benefit for the girls — it was very successful, and
the produce was employed for their support.

Many years have past since we have looked into the comedies of
Farquhar ; we can now form but an indistinct opinion of their general
character and merits from any recollection of our own. They belong
perhaps to a department of the drama, which, of all branches of Eng-
lish literature, is the least likely to be restored to the possession of
that popular favour Avhich is the legitimate claim of those dramas
which pretend to the representation of life and manners. Farquhar
has been compared with Congreve. If the preference were to be
settled with regard to pre-eminence of genius, or even superiority in
that wit, in which both excelled, we should not hesitate to decide for
Congreve — if, indeed, we should admit the propriety of so unequal a
comparison. But Farquhar has his advantages which, although less
brilliant and imposing when viewed with regard to genius only, give him
many practical claims to an effective superiority. Compared with his
greater rival, he is far more natural, and far less licentious and im-
pure: and while the sparkling dialogues of Congreve could never have
taken place except upon the stage, Farquhar's scenes were at least
true to human life, the manners of his day, and the passions of nature.
His plots were also more finished, and the style of his dialogue more
simple and unaffected.

Either of these distinguished comic writers, if they should at a
future time be looked into, will be chiefly valuable for the reflexion
which they retain of the taste and morals of the age in which they
wrote; for, of both, it may be said, that they are licentious and
artificial. There yet remained the consequences of that corruption
of which we think the origin must be looked for in the disorders of
the long rebellion, but which was nurtured and brought to its rank
maturity in the hotbed of king Charles' court. A strong reaction
set in during the reign of William and Mary; but the taint was too
congenial for human nature to throw oft' with ease. Purer rules may
be adopted by the reason and conscience, long before taste and fashion,
which dwell in pleasures and levities, will be restored. The misappli-
cations of talent are directed by the beck and eye of folly — to say no
worse — and the taste of succeeding generations will long continue
vitiated by the perpetuating influence of the poet.

It was in this generation, and in the person of Congreve, that the
licentiousness of the comic drama received a check from which we
are inclined to date much of the reform in manners, which can be
subsequently traced. We refer to Collier's " Short View of the Im-
morality and Profaneness of the English Stage," published in 1 688.

PERIOD.] NAHUM TATE. 71

He was weakly opposed by Congreve, whose opposition had only the
effect of prolonging, and giving added decision to the victory of his
antagonist. " Collier lived," writes Dr Johnson, " to see the reward
of his labour in the reformation of the theatre."

Of Congreve, we are entitled to offer a separate notice, as he was
educated first at Kilkenny, and then in the university of Dublin. The
place of his birth has been disputed, but he was himself strenuous in
the assertion of his claim to have been a native of England. We do
not see any reason to dispute the point, and our fast contracting limits
offer some for declining the doubtful honour. So far as education
may be allowed to govern the judgment, store the memory, or guide
the taste, his literary reputation is due to the university of Dublin.
A brief but sufficient memoir of his life has been written by Johnson,
whose writings are in every hand.

Nafium

BORN A.D. 1652. DIED A.D. 1715.

NAHUM TATE was the son of a clergyman of the county of Cavan.
He was born in Dublin, whither his father had been driven by the
rebels. His father became, after some vicissitudes, minister of Wer-
burgh's church in Dublin. It may be inferred that the son had
the advantages of a peaceable youth and pious education. At the
age of sixteen he entered the university of Dublin. He was favoured
early with the patronage of the earl of Dorset, and succeeded Shad-
well as poet laureat. The incidents of his life were few and uninter-
esting. He fell into great distress and died, it is said in the Mint,
into which he had escaped from his creditors.

As a writer, he cannot receive much commendation — his poems and
dramatic works could hardly be considered as entitling him to a notice
here. But those far and universally known versions of the psalms,
which have given to piety a welcome and available resource, and added
to sacred music the utterance of inspired feeling, is not to be rated by
the talent that has been employed iu the pious and honourable task.
When the proudest monuments of human genius shall have past away,
and when the thoughts of which the very foundation and meaning
subsist in perishable things shall have been forgotten, the meanest
song, in which eternal truths are uttered, may be preserved by their
abiding truth, and be a portion of the records of heaven.

The songs of Zion do not indeed demand the genius of Moore or
Byron, to give to heavenly inspiration the power of earthly genius.
They demand no refined and artful melody of versification, no terse
and pointed rhetoric of style, to wrest them from their pure and simple
significancy: they refuse the additions which are involved in the whole
art of poetry, and have only required, with the utmost truth and fidelity
to be conformed to the rhythm adapted to church music, and to the
genius of the national ear. To be sung, as in their origin they were,
and to be still the song of every rank and tongue, as well adapted to
the sabbath-evening of the peasant, as the endowed cathedral; to be

72 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

the effusion of the simplest Christian piety, and still not lose their
tone and echo of the ancient harp of Israel, only demanded changes
of form, to which aspiring genius, with its excess of invention and
profuse array of intellectual tints, will not he confined; and which a
thorough infusion of genuine sympathy with pious sentiments, can
alone command. In such a task a more refined and gifted mind than
Tate's might have found itself wanting ; and, it may perhaps be not
unfitly added — for we have seen it variously exemplified — that a degree
of intellectual power little competent in most exertions of human aim,
when employed in the service of God, and elevated by that Spirit
which is greater than the power of genius, will reach to heights
which can be accounted for in no other way than by tracing them to
the source of all truth and wisdom, — such efforts will ever be found
characterized by a chaste adaptation to their good and hallowed
purpose.

BORN A.D. 1671. — DIED A.D. 1729.

STEELE was born in Dublin, some time in 1671. His father was a
barrister, and private secretary to the duke of Ormonde, by whose
influence his son was admitted into the charter-house in London, to be
educated. In this institution he formed his acquaintance with Addi-
son. From the charter-house he entered Merton College, Oxford,
where he gave his attention chiefly to the study of English literature,
and manifested that talent and restlessness of temper, so remarkable in
his after life. While yet in college he wrote a comedy, which he sup-
pressed by the advice of a fellow-student. He probably devoted more
time to gaiety and dissipation than to study, and evidently became at
last impatient of the sober character of a student. Being destitute of
the means of the more expensive and costly dissipation of the place,
and, in all probability, infected with the military tastes for gay uniform
and companions, to which young men are so liable ; he left the
university without taking his degree, and enlisted in the horse-guards.
The step was fatal to his prospects, as he was thus, by the resentment
of his family, cut off from the succession to an estate in the county of
Wexford, to which he was the presumptive heir.

Having thus cut the ties between him and these expectations to
which he was entitled by his birth, Steele was not deficient in those
less ordinary advantages, by which men of genius and enterprise
occasionally make their way good in life. As often happens in such
instances, he had more power to win, than prudence to secure, the
advantages of success. His wit, uniform gaiety, and amiability of
manner and temper, together with the pleasure-loving recklessness of
his character, made him a universal favourite in the regiment. With
these qualities Steele possessed another, not so much in unison with
such a temper, and not so much to the taste of those by whom it is
possessed — a tender and impressible conscience. Young men, aban-
doned to gaiety with that wholeness of devotion which generally marks

PERIOD.] SIR RICHARD STEELE. 73

the follies of the young, will not often — if ever — be observed to be
very much alive to impressions of an opposite kind ; but this is chiefly
because, in the crowd, the physical portion of our nature is far predo-
minant above the moral or intellectual, and preserves therefore, more
thoroughly that consistency in good or evil which is due to habits of
mind, however caused. But it is different in the few cases where the
mind obtains some degree of prevalence: the seeming contradiction,
so frequently displayed in the career of Steele, then appears. While
the animal passions, and the tastes which they engender, will hurry on
the devotee of folly, he becomes, at the same time, painfully subject to
the daily check of a voice which he cannot silence, because he con-
tinues, in despite of folly, to think and feel; he cannot be brutalized
by the cup of Circe till after long and repeated draughts have at
length destroyed the divine elements of humanity within him. In
Steele, restless and impulsive as he was, the noble element was strong
within ; and, while his wit and spirit placed him high in the revel, he
felt also a growing repugnance to the distinction, and turned in his
moments of reflection to look back, with longing, upon the peaceful
and happy tenor of better and more profitable years. But, above all,
he was yet, in his convictions at least, a sincere Christian, and could
not without compunction experience the total inconsistency with such
a profession of all his present companionships and avocations. He
resolved at last on a change, for which he by no means possessed ade-
quate perseverance ; yet, acting with a noble courage on his resolution,
he at once took what he considered a decisive step to cut the bonds
between him and temptation. In pursuance of this laudable design he
wrote for himself a brief manual of moral and religious counsel, which
he shortly after published under the title of " The Christian Hero."
The result strongly proves the real character of his associates — he was
at once denounced among them and universally shunned. Those who
had been his companions and admirers took every opportunity to insult
him, and, as they said, to prove whether he was a " Christian Hero"
or not. Among them, one more violent and vain-glorious than the
rest endeavoured to provoke him to a duel. Steele made every effort
to avoid it, but the prejudice of the day was still in favour of this
monstrous remnant of the barbarism of Gothic times; and public
opinion was imperative. A soldier could not, without the loss of honour,
refuse to expose his life at the demand of the most wanton vice and folly.
Steele was compelled to meet his brutal and despicable challenger, but
had the good fortune or the prowess to run him through in the en-
counter. The whole transaction came circumstantially before the
commander of the regiment; lord Cutts, whose conduct deserves to be
honourably recorded, appointed him his private secretary, and obtained
him an ensigncy in the regiment of lord Lucas.

The impression made in the regiment, generally, and among the
dissolute circle in which he lived, was, however, strongly unfavourable
to Steele, — and not, indeed, without strong apparent ground. It
was evident that a course of reckless dissipation was maintained
during the composition of a book, which, thus accompanied, could
not fail to carry an air of gross insincerity; his mornings were spent
in preaching against the disorder and vices of his nights, and the

74 LITERARY SERIES. [FouRTH

charge of hypocrisy can only be answered by the imputation of a more
than common share of that fearful inconsistency which is a known con-
dition of the human character. The contempt thus incurred, if not
justly directed, was at least strongly sanctioned. Steele is thought to
have sought refuge in literary distinction, and, under the influence of
this distressing position, to have turned his mind to the drama — then
the main direction of the intellectual power of the age. His first
effort, in this line of composition, was the " Funeral, or Grief a la
mode," a Comedy. It had at least the success of satisfying the king's
taste, and the author's name was placed on the list of preferment — the
king, however, did not live to effect his favourable intentions, and the
list of court favour was cancelled by death. His friendship with Addison
was of more avail. Addison exerted himself so strenuously that he
obtained for him the appointment of writer of the Gazette, with a
salary of £300 a-year.

Encouraged by the success of his first effort he persevered in dra-
matic composition; and in the course of the next few years brought
out several plays, some original, some translations.

Steele is best known to posterity as a writer of periodical papers,
which have survived, not alone by their own great merit, but by their
conjunction with the writings of Addison, his still more illustrious
friend. Steele appears to have been the projector of the first effort
of this character, which, in any considerable degree, caught the pub-
lic attention. He commenced the Tattler on the 22d April, 1709-
Addison, who was not in the secret, discovered the true author by
means of a comment on Virgil, which he had given to Steele. Addi-
son's first contribution appeared on the 26th of May following, and he
continued to assist his friend by a succession of papers, which con-
tinued at intervals nearly till the 2d of January, 1711, when Steele
discontinued the Tattler. This paper may not improbably have been
suggested by Swift's papers on Bickerstaff, which preceded it but a
little, and it is known that Swift was for sometime an active con-
tributor; it was not, however, till Addison became enabled by the
change of the ministry to give his time to the paper, that it rose to any
very considerable eminence. It advanced the reputation of Steele very
much, and obtained for him the office of commissioner of stamps.

In the mean time, Steele had contracted a marriage, in which it is
most likely that his principal objects were not attained, — a lady, who
brought him an estate in the island of Barbadoes, considered worth
eight hundred pounds a-year, but encumbered to nearly its value.
Such an alliance held forth a strong temptation to one of Steele's
expensive habits, and brought with it not much more than an excuse
for extravagance.

On the 1st of March, 1711, the first number of the Spectator was
published. It was conceived and generally executed in a more serious
spirit, and has been, we believe, by far the most successful production
of the same class. Though perhaps mainly designed as a vehicle for
political opinion, it soon obtained a far higher, as well as more useful
direction "to mend the manners and improve the heart;'' an intent
loudly called for by the time. Johnson, whose wide acquaintance
with the history of literature gives authority to his remarks, in his

PERIOD.]

SIR RICHARD STEELE. 7<5

notice of this kind of writing in which he was himself only second to
Addison, tells us, — " To teach the minuter decencies and inferior
duties — to regulate the practice of daily conversation — to correct
those depravities which are rather ridiculous than criminal — and to
remove those grievances, which, if they produce no lasting calamities,
impress hourly vexation — was first attempted by Casa in his Book of
Manners, and Castiglione in his Courtier — two books yet celebrated
in Italy for purity and elegance ; and which, if they are now less read,
are neglected only because they have effected that reformation which
their authors intended." We have made this extract, not only for its
historical value, but because it gives a just, though perhaps too
expanded a description of this species of literature, which was a great
and especial want of the time in which the Spectator appeared. This
desideratum could not fail to force itself on the keen observation of
Steele and his cotemporaries — Swift and Addison — who seem to have
eminently possessed the talents which their day stood in need of.
There was a laxity of manners ; the result of a looseness of morals —
of the prevalence of deism — and, in some measure, of the simplicity
and ignorance of the times. "Before the Tattler and Spectator" savs
Johnson, " if the writers for the theatre are excepted, England had no
masters of common life." The office here described, was, as we have
already mentioned, ingrafted on the primary design, for the purpose
of obtaining general attention by the production of papers in which
persons of every party might find an equal interest. And as party
animosity ran high during their publication, there may have been felt a
very considerable attraction in papers full of wit, refinement, and
interesting observation, which alone breathed no fierce -passion or
uucandid misrepresentation — the universal spirit of politics, then as
now and ever. In these papers, which appeared daily, and were per-
haps a fashionable accompaniment to the breakfast table, every one
found something to learn from or be amused by — absurdities were
exposed with a rare combination of good nature and playful wit — the
taste of the age was instructed by criticism, such as no age or country
has excelled for elegance, truth, and just refinement ; while, from time to
time, papers appeared in support of religious truths, which yet hold
their place among the most consummate specimens of English style.
These remarks would, according to our general plan, be more fitly
placed at the end of this memoir; but, in point of fact, they have more
reference to the papers of Addison than to those of Steele, whose share
in the Spectator was not less in point of quantity, but in other respects
stamped with the comparative inferiority of his genius to that of his
friend. Johnson makes a computation, from which the daily sale of
the Spectator appears to have amounted to no more than 1680 copies.
Among the notices connected with this period of Steele's life several
stories are told, which display the singular improvidence and careless-
ness of his temper in a strong point of view. He was in the habit of
constantly postponing the composition of his paper until the last
moment, while the printer waited to carry it to the press. Mr Nutt,
the printer of the Tattler, has been known to mention, that he had at
one time occasion to call on Steele at midnight for the paper for next

76 LITERARY SERIES. [FoDRTH

morning, which he, having entirely neglected, then sat up in hed, and
wrote in Mr Nutt's presence.

The fulness with which we have already, in our life of Swift,
entered upon the political history of this generation, together with the
consideration that we have far exceeded the space allotted to the
period, must compel us to observe the greatest possible brevity in our
notice of Steele's political career. Political controversy was then a
principal path to literary eminence, and a ready open to preferment.
The strife of parties, now carried on within the walls of parliament,
or in the columns of the daily press, was then carried on by pamphlets,
and in this war Steele was among the most distinguished. He was a
stanch adherent to the whigs. His countryman, Swift, was his most
formidable antagonist in the opposite party.

Immediately previous to the last parliament in the end of the reign
of queen Anne, when the point of main interest was the underhand
struggle, then in its fiercest height, between the adherents of the
Stuarts and the settlement of the crown upon the electress of Hanover
and her descendants, Steele wrote an elaborate pamphlet in support
of the latter interest : it was called " the Crisis," and pointed in strong
terms to the dangers and conspiracies against the protestant succes-
sion.* It called forth the resentment of Harley, and the occasion of
vengeance was not slow to come. When the election of a new par-
liament drew nigh, he resigned his place of stamp commissioner, and
was elected for the borough of Stockbridge.

The ministry resolved to unseat him, and that the matter might be
brought in with the least impediment, the subject of his pamphlet was
very distinctly, though in general terms, introduced in the queen's
speech. In the mean time Steele did himself no good service: on the
nomination of Sir T. Hanmer as speaker, he rose to second the
motion, but became confused, and could only utter a few ill-selected
words, which excited a sensation of ridicule in the house, and a cry of
"Tattler" was raised. He sat down in his confusion; and it was
remarked among the members, " It is not so easy a thing to speak in
the house — he fancies because he can scribble, that he can speak."

As it was the object of the ministers to unseat him with the least
possible delay, and as a petition, which was brought against his return,
must have been very slow, it was thought a preferable course to pro-
pose the immediate consideration of that part of the speech which
adverted to seditious libels. Mr Hungerford, a lawyer, who had been
expelled the house for taking a bribe in king William's reign, was
employed to call the attention of the house to Steele's pamphlet, and
was followed by Mr Harley (the lord-treasurer's brother), and others.
They first proposed proceeding at once to extremities, without allow-
ing of any defence; it was then proposed to allow three days. Steele,
however, showed some presence of mind and considerable address and

* It was answered by Swift ; and it is remarkable that he also contrived in his
answer, " The Public Spirit of the Whigs," very seriously to involve himself in
the displeasure of the Scottish peerage, so that he escaped the consequences, with
some difficulty, by the address of Mr Harley, and the fidelity of his printer — the
account of this may be found in his memoir, vol. iv.

PERIOD.] SIR RICHARD STEELE. 77

•wit, and, by contriving to put the house in good humour, he obtained
a week to prepare for his defence. In the mean time he displayed his
spirit and indiscretion, by making an attack on the government.

The 18th of March, the day appointed for his defence, proved that
he could speak before the house, and that with extraordinary ability
and power, by a speech of three hours' duration. On this occasion he
stood at the bar of the house, supported by Walpole and Stanhope on
either side; his friend, Addison, sat near to assist and prompt him,
and he made a defence alike remarkable for argument and wit. His
enemies did not think it necessary to reply in detail, as they relied
more on their ascertained majority in the house than upon any con-
sideration of the justice of their charges. Mr Auditor Foley per-
emptorily alleged that the writings complained of were scandalous,
and called for the question. Walpole rose and made one of his ablest
speeches in behalf of Steele, and retorted on the tories with a force so
tremendous, as must, for a moment, have made them regret having
stirred so perilous a question; among other severe strokes, he said, "From
what fatality does it arise, that what is written in favour of the Pro-
testant succession, and what was countenanced by the late ministry, is
deemed a libel by the present administration ? General invectives in
the pulpit against any particular sin have never been deemed a reflec-
tion on individuals, unless the darling sin of those persons happen to
be the vice against which the preacher inveighs. It becomes, then,
a fair inference from the irritability and resentment of the present
administration against its defender, that their darling sin is to obstruct
and prevent the Protestant succession."

This occasion was attended by another incident of great interest,
which we cannot omit. Steele had formerly in one of his periodical
papers refuted a scandalous libel against lady Charlotte Finch, daughter
to lord Nottingham, and afterwards duchess of Somerset. Her brother,
lord Finch, as yet a very young man, was at this time in parliament,
and was naturally eager to repay such an important obligation, by
standing up for the defender of his sister. He had, however, never yet
addressed the house, and when he made the attempt he was, like
Steele himself, overpowered by the embarrassment, better known than
understood, which is so usual on such occasions; he became confused;
and, deserted by his self-possession and clear command of thought,
after a vain effort, he sat down. But while he was taking his seat,
he said, in a voice loud enough to be heard, " It is strange I cannot
speak for this man, though I could readily fight for him." This noble
spirited exclamation communicated a momentary thrill of generous
feeling to the house, and " hear him, hear him," resounded on every
side. Lord Finch rose again, the chain of embarrassment was
broken, and he delivered an able and eloquent speech, Lord Mahon
observes that this " was the beginning of a public career, which,
though not illustrious, was long useful and honourable."*

The result of the debate was unfavourable to Steele, — the tories
carried the motion by a majority of 245 against 152, that the "Eng-
lishman" and " the Crisis" were scandalous libels; and that Mr Steele

* Hist. England, I.

78 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

be expelled the house. Steele soon after published a defence, which
he dedicated to Walpole. Although we can have no doubt as to the
substantial truth and justice of the imputations against the govern-
ment, which are involved in these obnoxious writings of Steele, yet
we must add, that, as a literary production, the merit of the Crisis
seems to have been inconsiderable. Sir Walter Scott, in speak-
ing of it says, " This treatise was brought forward with a degree of
pomp and parade which its contents hardly warrant, being chiefly a
digest of the acts of parliament respecting the succession, mixed with
a few comments, of which the diction is neither eloquent, forcible,
nor precise ; while, by the extraordinary efforts made to obtain sub-
scriptions, it was plain that the relief of the author's necessities was
the principal object of the publication.*

We have already in our memoir of Swift adverted to the long and
violent quarrel which was during this period raging between Swift
and Steele. It was then our intention to bring it forward here in
considerable detail, but, as matters stand, we are compelled to aban-
don this intention — the interest would not compensate the space lost.
On Swift's part this conflict was carried on with all the fierce animos-
ity and unrelenting rancour of his nature. He assailed the writings,
the feelings, and the private life and reputation of Steele, with all the
keen and searching malice of his unsparing satire. " It is to Steele's
honour," says Scott, " that although he appears to have rushed hastily,
and without due provocation, into the quarrel with Swift, he did not
condescend to retort these personalities." Some letters which passed
between Swift and Steele form the most interesting part of the
quarrel — they will be found in the published collection of Swift's
correspondence.

Among Steele's political writings on the main question, which, at
the same date, occupied the public, was a pamphlet, entitled " The
Romish Ecclesiastical History of Late Years" — of which the object
is sufficiently expressed in the title.

The accession of George I. opened better prospects to Steele. He
was appointed surveyor of the royal stables at Hampton Court, and was
also knighted. He again entered parliament as member for Borough-
bridge. His circumstances were considerably relieved by a share in
the patent for Drury-lane theatre, from which he derived, it is said,
considerable emolument until 1720. In 1717, he was appointed one
of the commissioners of inquiry upon the estates forfeited in Scotland
by the rebellion of 1715 — the consequence was a visit to Scotland,
where he was received with great courtesy and respect.

In 1719, an unhappy difference arose between him and Addison,
owing to a pamphleteering controversy on the subject of a bill for the
limitation of the peerage. The difference was soon made up, but
there grew up between these eminent friends a degree of estrange-
ment, which rather increased than diminished for the remainder of
their lives ; yet, without any formal breach, and perhaps also without
very sensibly lessening the old friendship which had subsisted from
their very schoolboy days. We think it worth observing, that strong

* Life of Swift, Ed. 1834, p. 1G1.

PERIOD.] SIR RICHARD STEELE. 79

friendships contracted very early in life, while numerous points of the
character yet remain undeveloped, must always be liable to the risk of
such estrangements. The high and constant spirit, will, it is true,
not easily resign a sentiment of honourable affection; but two minds
may, through life, by the development of opposite peculiarities, so
continue to grow asunder from each other, as to render intercourse
constrained and painful, unless by fits of occasion, when differences
are, for the moment, suppressed, and only recollections of better days
are called up. And so it soon became between Addison and Steele
— they gradually ceased to seek each other. But when they did
chance to meet, they threw aside all jarring topics, and indulged in the
fullest flow of mutual kindness and affection. Both, indeed, were men
free from the darker shades of human gall. Steele had not that depth
and tenacity which retain offence ; and that levity of temper, which in
him was the source of many faults, is the least consistent with any
lasting sense of anger: Addison was in these respects widely different;
but in him there was a nobility of spirit, which makes just allowance,
and a Christian temper of humility and charity, which is ready to bear and
forbear. To one of Addison's fine taste and cautious temper, Steele's
perpetual thoughtlessness must have been the cause of constant dis-
quiet; while, at the same time, it exercised all his kindliness of nature
in the endeavour to guard his friend against the consequences of his
invincible indiscretion and extravagance. Of this many incredible
anecdotes remain, which we do not think it necessary to collect. Some
may be useful for the illustration of character they contain. Steele's
habit of extravagant expense was his besetting infirmity; on the
slightest acquisition of means, he rushed into such expenses as ten
times the emolument could not support; indeed, his economy seems
never to have looked beyond the present day. He had built an ex-
travagant villa near London, where he continued to live for a time in
the most lavish extravagance. Addison had wasted his utmost efforts
to induce him to part with this ruinous establishment, but all in vain.
At last Steele became deeply embarrassed, and applied to his friend
for the loan of a thousand pounds. Addison, of course, saw at once
that the repayment of such a sum would be impossible; but, on reflec-
tion, he also saw that the loan might enable him to force his friend
from the destructive position in which he was pertinaciously fixed.
He lent him the required sum for twelve months, on the security of the
house and furniture. The money soon went; but, at the end of the
year, Steele was as poor as in the beginning — there was no means of
repayment, but by the sale of the obnoxious premises. This Addison
enforced — and then explained his motives in a friendly letter to
Steele, who received the explanation with candour, and there was no
interruption to their friendship. It is mentioned that at a subsequent
period Steele fitted up part of his house at York building as a the-
atre for recitations. One day, while visiting the work, he took it
into his head to try how a voice would sound from a rostrum which
was preparing for the purpose: accordingly, he desired the carpenter
to mount and say something: the man got up; but, after scratching
his head for a moment, could not think of anything to say. Steele
desired that he should say whatever came uppermost: " Why here,"

80 LITERARY SERIES. [FouRTH

spoke the carpenter, " we have been working for you these six
months, and cannot get one penny of money. Pray, sir, when do
you mean to pay us." " Very well, very well," interrupted Sir Richard,
" pray come down, I've heard quite enough, I can't but own you speak
very distinctly, though I don't much admire your subject."

On the accession of Mr Walpole to power, Steele was reinstated in
the theatrical station, from which he had, according to his own ac-
count of the matter, been ejected by the private malice of the cham-
berlain. The influence of this happy circumstance gave new spirit to
his dramatic talents, and he soon after produced the most successful
of his comedies — the " Conscious Lovers" — which was received with
the highest applause of the theatre ; and, having published it with a
dedication to the king, his majesty presented him with £500.

Steele was one of that not very uncommon order of persons, who
cannot be permanently benefited by kindness — money to him was like
water to a sieve. Few had, indeed, been more fortunate, if favourable
circumstances could counterbalance the total want of prudence. In
addition to the successes which attended his literary and political
course, his first wife brought him a handsome fortune, which, with a
little judicious management in the beginning, might alone have se-
cured a respectable independence. This lady having died soon, he
married his second wife, a lady possessed of an estate in Wales.
Happily, this lady, or more probably her family, took the most neces-
sary precaution to secure her property in her own hands; and to this
alone, perhaps, he was indebted for a retreat in the last days of his
life. He was greatly attached to his second wife, who appears to
have deserved his love by kindness. Mutual discontents must have
frequently interrupted their peace, as Steele's desperate and unreflect-
ing extravagance was to be resisted by her prudence. She has been
accused of parsimony; but we can have no hesitation in rejecting the
imputation, too obviously the result of circums|ances which made it
her daily duty to resist the extreme and wilful folly of her spend-
thrift husband.

Sir Richard Steele would have spent his wife's patrimony with the
same rapidity, and by the same ready channels which quickly carried
away his own resources. He was not long in disencumbering himself
of the royal bounty, of the profits of his play and theatre, and com-
pelled to resign whatever estate he was in any way possessed of for
the benefit of his creditors. He retired to Llanqunnor, in Carmar-
thenshire— the estate of his wife. There the short remainder of his
life was spent.

In the solitude of retirement, and in the languor of impaired health,
when ordinary men have rarely the courage or the reflection to sur-
vey the errors of past life, or to turn in search of the long neglected
narrow path, which is the only refuge in the end, Steele's devotional
temper, which had always maintained a place, in " spite of folly" — for
he never sunk into vice — obtained the entire possession of his breast.
He carried, happily, with him into retirement, the recollection, that
though he had been led away by his vanity and his impetuous im-
pulses, he had never attempted to justify folly at the expense of truth ;
but in his writings had strenuously and effectually vindicated the

PERIOD.] ROBERT MOLESWORTH, VISCOUNT MOLESWORTH. 81

supremacy of order, sound morality, and true religion. Men of ordi-
nary ingenuity, when they follow an erroneous career, seldom fail to
seek for peace and self-content, by some dexterous misrepresentation.
Steele was too honest — he was quite incapable of guile, and he now
experienced the reward. It pleased God to visit him with mercy
in his retreat; and he there entered on a sternly sober course of sacred
study and preparation, which excluded all other occupations.

For such an interval, no long pause was needful. — And we have to
trace no long period between the world and the grave. He was seized
with a paralytic affection, from which he recovered but partially — and
soon after, died, on 21st September, 1729, and was privately interred
in Carmarthen church.

, Utecount

BORN A.D. 1656. — DIED A.D. l7'25.

THE Molesworth family anciently possessed rank and fortune in the
counties of Bedford and Northampton ; and are traced so far back as
the reign of the first Edward, from whom their ancestor, Sir William
de Molesworth, received knighthood in 1306, on the occasion when
prince Edward was knighted. He had attended the king in his ex-
pedition to the Holy Land, and, at several times, received distinguished
honours from him and his successor.

From a younger branch of his descendants in a direct line, came
Robert, the father of the person here under our notice. In the re-
bellion of 1641, he came into Ireland as a captain in the regiment com-
manded by his elder brother. At the termination of the civil wars,
he became an undertaker, and obtained 2500 acres of land in the
county of Meath. He afterwards became a merchant in Dublin, and
rose into great wealth and favour with the government. He died
in 1656.

Four days after his father's death, in the same year, Robert Moles-
worth was born — the only son of his father.

He received his education in Dublin, and entered the university.
He married early, probably in his twentieth year, a sister of the earl of
Bellamont. In the struggle previous to the Revolution, he came forward
early in support of the prince of Orange, for which his estates were
seized by king James, under whose parliament he was attainted. He
was, however, soon restored to his rights, by king William, who enter-
tained a high esteem for him; and, soon after his accession to the
throne, sent him as an envoy into Denmark.

At Denmark he fell into some disfavour with the Danish court. The
circumstances are only known through the representations of an ad-
versary; but they are probable, and may be substantially true. He is
stated, by Dr King, on the authority of the Danish envoy, to have
most unwarrantably trespassed on the royal privileges, by hunting in
the royal preserves, and riding on the road exclusively appropriated to
the king. In consequence of those freedoms, he was forbidden the
court, and left the country without the ordinary form of an audience.

VOL. V.

V

82 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

On his arrival in England, he wrote and published " An Account of
Denmark." The book was written under the influence of resentment,
and gave a very unfavourable account of the Danish government. It
was, of course, highly resented by that court, and most especially by
prince George, who was married to the English princess Anne, after-
wards queen of England. A complaint was made to king William,
by Scheele, the Danish envoy in London — he also supplied Dr King
with materials for a reply — on the warrant of which we have the above
particulars.

Molesworth's book became at once popular, and was the means of
greatly extending his reputation, and raising him in the estimation of
the most eminent literary characters of the day. He served in the
Irish house of commons, for the borough of Swords. He was elected
to a seat in the English parliament, for East Retford. He obtained
a seat in the privy council, in the reign of queen Anne — but lost it in
1713, in the heat of party, in consequence of a complaint brought
against him by the lower house of convocation, for some words of an
insulting purport spoken by him in public. It is, however, easy to see
that, in the fierce animosity of the tories then striving for existence,
a stanch supporter of the house of Hanover had little chance of
favour. The " Crisis," mentioned in the previous memoir, was partly
written in defence of Molesworth.

At length the accession of George the first once more restored the
Whigs to place and favour. Molesworth was again named as one of
the Irish privy council, and a commissioner of trade and plantations.

In 1716, the king created him an Irish peer, under the titles of
baron Philipstown and viscount Molesworth of Swords, by patent,
dated 16th July, 1716. He was a fellow of the Royal Society, and
took a prominent part in every concern which affected the welfare of
his country, till the last two years of his life, when he withdrew from
public affairs, and devoted his time to literary retirement.

He died 22d May, 1725, and was buried at Swords,

Besides his " Account of Denmark," he wrote several pieces of
considerable ability, which had, in their day, the effect of exciting public
attention, and awakening a useful spirit in Ireland.

In 1723, he published an address to the Irish house of commons
for the encouragement of agriculture, and in 1719, a letter relative to
the Irish peerage. He translated a political treatise of the civilian
Hottoman, from the Latin, and this work reached a second edition, in
1721. His tracts were numerous, and were generally approved for
their strong sense and plain force of style.

Eogle, fourth 3Earl of

BORN A.D. 1676. — DIED A.D. 1731.

THE subject of this memoir, Charles Boyle, second surviving son to
the second earl of Orrery, and the lady Mary Sackville, second
daughter to the earl of Dorset, was born in 1676. He received his
education in English schools; from which he became a student in

PERIOD.] CHARLES BOYLE, FOURTH EARL OF ORRERY. 83

Christ Church, Oxford, under the tuition of the celebrated Atter-
bury and the Rev. Dr Friend. He possessed that industrious energy
of temperament which had distinguished many of his race, and applied
himself to study with a devotion which injured his health. His in-
dustry was repaid by the acquisition of a very high academic reputa-
tion, and the more substantial attainment of such knowledge as the
studies then pursued in his university were likely to impart. Dr
Aldrich, the head of his college, formed a very high opinion of his
merits, and dedicated to him his " Compendium of Logic," in which
he calls him, " Magnum (edis nostrce ornamentum." Mr Boyle's lite-
rary ambition seems to have been strongly excited while yet a student.
He translated the life of Lysander from Plutarch, and published it.
This was probably undertaken at the suggestion of Aldrich, who pre-
sently after set him upon a task of far more doubtful result — an edition
of the "Epistles of Phalaris."

Boyle readily entered upon the work, and translated the epistles
into Latin, which he published with the Greek text. Toward the end
of his Latin preface, he dropped an unlucky sentence, in which he
accused the librarian, who was no less a person than Dr Bentley, of
unpolitely withholding from him the manuscript. Bentley wrote a
letter in explanation, in which he denied the imputation of having
withheld the manuscript. The truth appears to be, that the book-
seller who had been employed to collate the manuscript in St James'
library with that in Oxford, neglected the task, and excused himself
by a falsehood. But to this person Bentley had expressed his opinion
that the letters were spurious; and this being conveyed to Boyle, he
felt offended, and gave way to the natural petulance of his temper.
He replied, " that what Mr Bentley said might be true, but that the
bookseller had represented the matter quite otherwise ;" and ended by
a very unwarrantable defiance, telling Bentley that " he might seek
redress in what way he pleased."

The matter might have stopped here; but another train of incidents
took place at nearly the same time, which led to that subsequent colli-
sion, so celebrated in literary history. Sir William Temple, in one
of his essays, had cited the epistles of Phalaris and the fables of
./Esop, as instances of the superiority of ancient literature. We shall
extract the whole of Temple's observation, as it will be the best intro-
duction to the controversy. — r" It may, perhaps, be further affirmed, in
favour of the ancients, that the oldest books we have are still, in their
kind, the best. The two most ancient that I know, in prose, among
those we call profane authors, are ^Esop's fables and Phalaris1 epistles,
both living near the same time — which was that of Cyrus and Pythag-
oras. As the first has been agreed by all ages since, for the greatest
master in his kind, and all others of that sort have been but imitations
of his original — so I think the epistles of Phalaris to have more race,
more spirit, more force of wit and genius, than any others I have ever
seen, either ancient or modern. I know several learned men — or that
usually pass for such, under the name of critics — have not esteemed
them genuine; and Politian, with some others, have attributed them
to Lucian ; but I think he must have little skill in painting, that can-
not find this out to be an original. — Such diversity of passions upon

84 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

such variety of actions and passages of life and government, such
freedom of thought, such boldness of expression, such bounty to his
friends, such scorn to his enemies, such honour of learned men, such
esteem of good, such knowledge of life, such contempt of death, with
such fierceness of nature, and cruelty of revenge, could never be re-
presented but by him that possessed them ; and I esteem Lucian to
have been no more capable of writing, than of acting what Phalaris
did. In all one writ, you find the scholar or the sophist; and in all
the other, the tyrant and the commander !"* His essay was answered
by Wotton's " Reflections on Ancient and Modern Learning." While
engaged in this essay, Wotton was assured by Bentley that the two
examples on which Temple relied were both spurious ; on which
Bentley was pressed to write his opinions, as an appendix to the pro-
jected essay. Bentley assented, but delayed; and the essay came out
without his argument. On the publication of the second edition, the
importunity of Wotton prevailed ; and Bentley, still reluctant to come
into collision with the editors of the Oxford edition of the epistles,
at last consented, and his dissertation appeared — making good the
points of his previous affirmation. Having asserted and explained the
habits of forgery — to which the ancients, during many centuries, had
been notoriously addicted — he attacked the genuineness of the epistles
or Phalaris, on the grounds of their chronology, style, substance, and
the date of their first appearance. Having fixed the lowest possible
limit for the age of Phalaris, he showed that they contained numerous
references to events long subsequent to the death of Phalaris.f He
also pointed out that the style was not that of the Dorian prince —
being Attic, and not even the Attic style of the age of Phalaris — with
other arguments of similar force. With less truth he attacks the
letters, as inconsistent with the character of Phalaris; and, lastly,
shows the high improbability of their having lain unknown for
upwards of a thousand years, until the time of Lucian. He then
enters into a vindication of his own conduct from Mr Boyle's asper-
sion; and concludes by alleging that the version which had recently
appeared was full of faults, and hinting that it was not Mr Boyle's
own work. Bentley's dissertation was fully sufficient to set the ques-
tion at rest, and was at once received by all distinguished scholars as
a model of skill and learning. Mr Boyle and his literary allies had,
however, the felicity attributed by Goldsmith to the village pedant,
for, "e'en tho' vanquished he could argue still." A junto of clever
heads joined their contributions of wit and erudition to produce a
reply, and demolish Bentley. Boyle was aided by Atterbury, Smal-
ridge, the Friends, and others ; and the discharge of their combined

* Temple's Essays, vol. ii. p. 84. Lond. 1821.

f We presume that the generality of our readers are sufficiently conversant with
the most common incidents of ancient history, to recollect the history of Phalaris,
•whose supposed epistles were the occasion of this celebrated controversy. He is
mentioned as a Cretan, who was banished for an attempt to usurp the government
of his native city; and, having fled to Sicily, he contrived to usurp that of Agri-
gentum. He was famous for his cruelty and talent ; and is familiarly recollected
by the story of Perillus and the brazen bull which he invented for the torture of
criminals, arid presented to Phalaris, who tried its effect upon the contriver.

PERIOD.] CHARLES BOYLE, FOURTH EARL OF ORRERY. 85

ability was launched again at the librarian's devoted head, in a dis-
sertation entitled, " Dr Bentley's Dissertations on the Epistles of
Phalaris and the Fables of Msop, examined, by the Honourable Charles
Boyle, Esq." That a composition of the leading wits of Oxford
should contain marks of its varied and fertile soil, is but a matter
of course ; nor is it less so, that it should be hailed with acclamation
by the crowd, who may be always found in the train of popular
talents and of aristocratic pretensions. This reply was at once re-
ceived with general applause ; and this seemed confirmed by nume-
rous clever productions, which appeared to swell the triumph of the
Oxonians. — Among these appeared Swift's " Battle of the Books."
There are more who understand ingenuity, wit, and expertness, and
feel the force of satire, than there are who can appreciate the merits of
an argument, or weigh the value of a statement — so that there was a
current of popular opinion against Bentley ; and his adversaries in-
dulged in a triumph which must have added to the mortification of their
subsequent discomfiture. In the commencement, however, of the fol-
lowing year (1699)> there came out the " Dissertation on the Epistles
of Phalaris, with an Answer to the Objections of the Honourable
Charles Boyle, by Richard Bentley, D.D." — which silenced the
chattering train, and placed Bentley at the height of his immortal
reputation, as a writer and scholar of the first order.

Mr Boyle's next production was a comedy, which we have not read ;
but it is described by Budgel, as "having too much wit." He also
wrote some copies of verses, at nearly the same time; one of which is
addressed to Garth, on his " Dispensary" — a poem in which a ludi-
crous compliment is paid to himself:

" So diamonds take a lustre from their foil,
And to a Bentley 'tis we owe a Boyle," —

An unlucky suggestion — which justice will retort on the person so
untruly flattered. But there then existed a sense of deferential and
adulatory reverence towards rank which has since given way before
the advance of the equalizing influences of civilization. The aristo-
cracy of England, now, perhaps, exalted in the scale of sterling respec-
tability, have been long shorn of the illusory rays which were derived
from the mere servility of a ruder time.

On leaving Oxford, Mr Boyle entered parliament as member for
Huntingdon. The rival candidate lodged a petition against his return ;
and the speech made on the occasion by Mr Boyle, occasioned a duel
between him and the petitioner. " They fought," writes Budgel," in
a gravel-pit, near the gate which now leads to Grosvenor Square.
Mr Boyle received several wounds himself before he hurt his adver-
sary ; but, at last, making a resolute thrust, he wounded Mr W ly

in such a manner, a little above the thigh, as made that gentleman
desire the contest might proceed no farther. Mr Boyle granted his
request; but had like to have died of the several wounds he received,
and languished under them in a tedious fit of sickness for many months
after the duel."

In 1703, his brother Lionel having died without issue, he succeeded
to the title, and shortly after married the lady Elizabeth Cecil, daughter

8(5 LITERARY SERIES. [FoUETH

to the earl of Exeter. In 1703, he was appointed colonel of a regi-
ment of foot. On queen Anne's restoration of the order of the Thistle,
in 1705, he was elected a knight of that order.

In 1709, he was promoted to the rank of brigadier general, and
immediately after, in the next year, to that of major-general. In 1710,
he was sent as British envoy to Flanders, and to the council of state
in the Spanish Low Countries, with an allowance of £10 a-day. In
1712, he served under the duke of Ormond in Flanders, and was pre-
sent in the battle of Taniers, in which he distinguished himself at the
head of his own regiment. He was sworn on her majesty's privy
council, and raised to the British peerage soon after his return, by the
title of Baron Boyle of Marston.

In the subsequent reign he was successively honoured with various
appointments which may be found enumerated by Lodge; but must
be here omitted.

On the accession of George I., lord Orrery's reputation, and the
caution which he had always preserved in his intercourse with public
men, preserved him in favour for a time ; and it seems apparent that
he might, without difficulty, have made good his footing by pursuing
a steady and consistent course. But, though both clever, dexterous,
and accomplished, lord Orrery was not either sagacious or profound.
He over-rated his talent and importance ; and, having manners which
attracted flattery, he allowed himself to be flattered into presumption.
At a time when dangerous plots were apprehended, and suspicion was
ever on the watch to fasten on doubtful conduct, he affected a tone
of honest independence for which no sagacious observer was likely
to give him credit. But in fact, as shall presently appear, he was
closely watched, and thoroughly understood. This is the true inter-
pretation of his friend Budgel's account of his loss of favour by an
unwillingness to fall in with the " violent humour of those times."
He evidently endeavoured to trim dexterously. Several of those
with whom he was in the habit of acting lost their places, but he
for a time preserved his own. He voted much with ministers, and
wrote a letter to the king to excuse himself for not voting always with
them; and offered, if required, to resign all his posts.

The consequences soon began to appear. The king went to Hanover
soon after, and while he was there, lord Orrery's regiment was taken
from him — on this he resigned his court office of lord of the bed-
chamber. After which he remained, for some years, in a state of
comparative privacy, to which his aspiring and over-active temper
could ill be reconciled. This continued from this time, in 1716, till
the year 1722. During the interval, we have met with no very de-
tailed account of his lordship, though he is occasionally to be traced
in Ireland, where he filled a gap in the circle which revolved around
the central light of Swift. In Ireland this was a distinction; but to
one of lord Orrery's habits and intercourse with the great world, it
was accompanied by humiliating circumstances. He could not bear
to be a satellite ; yet it was only on such terms he could enjoy the
privilege of taking his station in the court of wit. He is thought by
Scott to have resented the self-imposed mortification — and the incon-
sistency is at least natural. It is the character of vanity to study ap-

PERIOD.] CHARLES BOYLE, FOURTH EARL OF ORRERY. 87

pearance at the sacrifice of reality, and purchase flattery with humilia-
tion. He treated the Dean's memory with a severity, which, though
in our estimation by no means unjust, yet comes with a bad grace
from one who had been exalted by his notice, and played the courtier's
part for his favour.

In the meantime, the company he kept, and the small party to which
he really belonged, were chiefly composed of the remains of that ex-
treme party which, towards the close of queen Anne's reign, had kept
up a dangerous correspondence with the pretender, which ended in
their disgrace. For some time previous to that on which we now
enter, their hopes had been revived by the birth of an heir to the pre-
tender, Charles Edward, who was born at Rome in 1720. A corre-
spondence was renewed by this party, and an active plot organized, at the
head of which was the earl of Orrery, and the earl of Arran, with other
peers and gentlemen, of whom the most known was the celebrated
Atterbury, who had been one of Orrery's tutors in Oxford. This
accounts more satisfactorily for the disfavour of the earl at court; as
it is known that the earl of Sunderland kept an active correspondence
with the pretender and his adherents, with the private sanction of king
George, to whom all their proceedings were thus exposed. Sunder-
land died early in 1 7'22 ; and about the same time the conspiracy began
to grow more serious. The clue, however, to their proceedings seems
to have been lost ; for it was in the mouth of many, when the king was
preparing to visit his German dominions, that the English minister
received a warning from the regent of France, of a conspiracy against
the throne. To this was attached a condition, that no one should be
put to death. Walpole's intelligence, thus put on the alert, soon un-
ravelled the state of affairs, and found that the pretender was in motion,
and that the duke of Ormonde was preparing to take charge of a de-
scent from the coast of Biscay. We cannot here enter into a detailed
account; but, among other steps, lord Orrery and the duke of Norfolk
were sent to the Tower. The earl was taken into custody on the 27th
September, at his country-house, by a party of soldiers, commanded
by a colonel, and accompanied by one of the under-secretaries. A
thorough search for papers was made, and all his lordship's letters and
papers of every description were thrown into a large sack. At the
same time, his town house underwent a similar search, and seizure of
papers. His nearest friends were denied access to his confinement,
and even his son, who entreated to be shut up with him, was refused.

The earl's sufferings were severe ; for his health had, for many
years, been in an extreme state of delicacy, and had been kept up solely
by constant air and exercise. On the 9th of October, the parliament
passed a bill for the suspension of the habeas corpus act for one year.
It was proposed and agreed to, to detain the earl by virtue of this
suspension. He soon fell sick, and his physician, Dr Mead, went to
the council, and urged that his life was endangered, and he was, in
consequence, admitted to bail. Two noblemen went security for him,
in £20,000 each. His liberation was, nevertheless, imperfect, as he
was only allowed to remain in his country-house, under the custody of
two officers, in whose company he was allowed to take the air. The
authority upon which we are chiefly compelled to rely in all that

88 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

merely relates to the private history of the earl, is rendered so very
doubtful, by a great deal of very obvious folly and misrepresentation,
that we shall not enter fully into a variety of minute statements which
have too much the air of the clumsy fabrications of an apologist, half
deceived and willing to deceive. Budgel received his accounts from
the lips of the earl — against whom it is no very serious imputation
that he did not unfold circumstances of so questionable a nature, with
severe precision, to so shallow a creature.

His lordship obtained his freedom, and continued to attend in the
house of lords. He seldom or never spoke; but often joined in pro-
tests, and always voted against the government.

His lordship died in 1731, in his fifty-seventh year. Among his
accomplishments, the most distinguished was his knowledge of me-
chanics. Budgel claims for him the invention of that astronomical
toy which bears his name; and the manner in which he mentions it
makes it plain that lord Orrery was himself his authority. But we
rather suspect that his lordship, whose vanity was a besetting infirmity,
rather countenanced the mistake than directly asserted such a claim.
Budgel says, " The instrument which was invented by him, and bears
his name, is an undeniable proof of his mechanic genius. There are
so many different motions in this machine, that I have heard his lord-
ship say, it had almost turned the head of that ingenious artificer
whom he had employed to make it." We may venture to say, that the
" different motions," which nearly " turned the head " of George
Graham, are not to be referred to the contrivance of any other brains.
The conception involves no very great difficulty, or indeed, any very
extraordinary powers of contrivance. There is, however, nothing
improbable in the supposition, that the thoughts of such a machine
might have originated with his lordship, or, indeed, with any one.
He might have proposed to Graham to contrive a machine to represent
the motions of the solar system, but even this is negatived by the known
facts.

Graham, the inventor of the Orrery, was perhaps not acquainted
with the earl, for whom one was constructed by Rawley. The name
of " Orrery " was given to it by the error of Sir Richard Steele, who
was very probably imposed on by a conversation similar to that related
by Budgel. Graham's discoveries and inventions are numerous and
important. He was a member of the Royal Society, and abundant
records of his astronomical talents and knowledge maybe found in the
" Philosophical Transactions." He was the constructor of the great
mural arch in Greenwich Observatory. Indeed, the whole story is
too absurd.

One more circumstance we have reserved for this place. His lord-
ship left his splendid library to Oxford, to the great annoyance of his
son ; and Budgel, who seems to have thought that his regard for the
honour of his former patron was sufficient excuse for the most unne-
cessary and self-exposing mis-statements, cannot dismiss this slight cir-
cumstance without an insinuation. We shall take his entire state-
ment:— " But there is one article in his will, which, as it has made
some noise in the world, deserves to be explained: what I shall say
upon this head is, to my own certain knowledge, matter of fact. The

PERIOD.] TURLOUGH CAUOLAN. 89

late lord Orrery has bequeathed to Christ Church College, in Oxford,
of which he was formerly a member, all his noble library, save only
the journals of the house of lords, and such books as relate to the
English history and constitution, which are left to the present earl,
his son, who is likewise allowed the term of two years to separate
these from the other books. The world has been not a little surpris-
ed, to find that the late earl of Orrery should leave the bulk of that
library he had collected with so much pains and expense, from such
a son, who all who have the happiness to know him do very well know,
is not only learned, but a real lover of learning and men of letters.
In order to explain this mystery, it is proper the public should be
informed, that the late lord Orrery's will was made about four years
since, at a time when there was an unhappy coldness occasioned by a
family dispute between the late earl of Orrery and the present earl of
Orkney, soon after the son of the first had married the daughter of
the latter. Perhaps neither of these two noble lords were wholly in
the wrong." If the statement of Johnson be true — and there is no
reason to doubt it — the cause of the quarrel, which should not have
been hinted at by a biographer who did not think it fit to state the
whole, was simply that the young lord " would not allow his young
wife to keep company with his father's mistress." It is unnecessary
to say where the wrong lay. The father and son are said to have been
reconciled, and that the earl intended to alter his will, but was pre-
vented by death.

Curious!) (Sarolam

BORN A.D. 1670. — DIED A.D. 1738.

CAROLAN was the son of a farmer in the village of Hobber, in the
county of Westmeath. His father possessed but a few acres, and was
not therefore enabled to afford him the advantages of education, nor
was his condition in life such as to have pointed out any of the paths
of studious pursuit. He might, in all probability, have been destined
to the less brilliant, but not less happy or respectable avocations of his
father, and lived in industrious but fortunate obscurity, in his little
farm ; but the accident which appeared to cut him off from the busy
haunts of men, and consign him to the lowest state of helpless inuti-
lity, seems to have been the means of calling his extraordinary genius
into life. While yet an infant, the small-pox deprived him of his eye-
sight ; and his mind, shut in and bereaved of one great field of exer-
tion, transferred itself with the more wholeness to another, or, as he
himself was afterwards heard to say, " My eyes are transplanted into
my ears." He was too young to appreciate, in its full extent, the de-
privation, and if he wasted any very serious thought upon it, he was,
from his disposition, far more likely to measure it by the gifts and
immunities, the leisure and the song, than by its privations. His as-
tonishing musical powers were quickly noticed; and it may be gene-
rally observed, that musical talent, where it exists, is the first to be
developed, as the faculties which are more nearly allied to pure intel-

90 LITEUARY SERIES. [FouRTH

lect are the latest in their order. Carolan's genius was of the highest
order, and it soon attracted extensive curiosity, and many liberal
friends and patrons, who contributed to its cultivation. A harp and
master were procured, and he was quickly enabled to follow the dictates
of his fancy and his ear. These were, indeed, but uncultured still ; for,
with the wilfulness which belongs to internal impulse — the wayward-
ness of genius — he soon became impatient of the dull discipline which
is so essential to any perfection. With him the originating power, so
rare in every department of human pursuit, *ras overflowing ; he truly
" lisped in numbers."

He grew in melody as he grew in years, and those tender impres-
sions of passion which nature has so deeply woven with the gifts of
verse and song, began to expand in his bosom, and form part of an ex-
istence which had so small a sphere to dwell in. To fall in love, was
with Carolan a matter of course ; though his ideas of beauty — as it is for
the most part derived from the sense of which he was not possessed — .
must have been wholly wanting, or but dimly reflected from the re-
collections of infancy. The blind alone can tell how fancy can dress
out its rayless and formless vision of delight. Miss Bridget Cruise may
have had a plain face, and a graceless figure ; but we may assume
that she was possessed of an enchanting voice: the child of song pro-
bably felt with intense reality the power of a loveliness imbodied in
sound — a voice replete with soft and pleasant associations played over
his breast, when Miss Cruise was near. We know that his passion
found its only consolation in an immortal melody which bears the
lady's name, and perhaps the image of her lover's dream. It is said
that Miss Cruise was not insensible to the passion of her blind lover;
but it may be presumed, that every voice, and all the little prejudices
of village pride, would deter her from listening to any serious pro-
posal from a blind youth. Every one understands how the fancy will
work upon the report of rumour or fame ; to such an influence the
blind must be unusually liable, and this easily leads to the supposition
that Miss Cruise may have been the object of general admiration; and,
from such a thought, a little romance of pleased vanity, amiable con-
descension and wounded affection, is but too ready to start unbidden.
But these fancies have no end.

Carolan had the good sense to seek for consolation from the affec-
tion of Miss Mary Maguire, with whom one of his biographers has
informed us that he lived " harmoniously," though she was remark-
able for extravagance and pride: Carolan himself was a devotee to
whiskey; so that we may venture to apprehend that the harmony may
have been rather of the loudest. He took a farm at Mosshill, in
Leitrim, and launched into a course of reckless and prodigal hospi-
tality, which was both the bent of his nature, and the fashion of his
time. The Irish of that day were addicted to extravagance in a de-
gree incredible in this sober and trading age of teetotalism and rail-
roads— the only pledges, then, were pledges over the punch-bowl, — the
best kept road was the road to ruin, and a merrier or more crowded
way was never known; and on such, Carolan was not likely to be
wanting.

After a little time, we find him an itinerant musician. Of this pro-

PERIJD.] TURLOUGH CAROLAN. 91

fession we have already offered some description,* and shall hereafter
add some further remarks. The state of society in Ireland, at that
time, was favourable to the tuneful peregrination of the harper. The
spirit of old nationality — the rude hospitality — the simple enjoyments,
and the remains of those elder prejudices, customs, and opinions that
dwelt in the recollections and manners of ancestral times, all favoured,
as indeed they strictly comprehended the harper. To those who cared
for music — and they were few who did not — his music was far the best ;
to the rich and proud, he was a part of state ; to the retired and sim-
ple, his visit was a mission of joy and cheerfulness, a glad event to the
young, and full of interest for every class. In that period, when the
means of intelligence were far less; before intelligence began to travel
on improved systems of roads and conveyances — while the progress
of things was yet comparatively slow — an intelligent visitor, who, like
the harper, went his stated rounds from hall to hospitable hall, and
had for years been contracting kindness and love, in a wide circle of
families — most of whom were united in the bonds of kindness — had
many kindly things to say, and many reports of deep interest : he was
not merely a bearer of mirth and harmony, but of recollections, tradi-
tions, and provincial gossip. If he was a man of genius, character and
feeling — he gradually accumulated a store of wisdom, wit, humour,
local and personal knowledge, which must have given interest and
importance to his visit. All this is true for the whole class of travelling
harpers, which was not limited to the few whose names are yet re-
membered. But among these, a few were pre-eminently distinguished
for their genius, and the great superiority of their manners and gener-
al acquirements. Of such, none stood higher than Carolan ; and his
biographers relate that he was universally received with distinguish-
ing marks of honour and respect. Of particular incidents we have
not many ; but it is mentioned that whenever he was satisfied with the
hospitality which he had found, it was his custom to repay the kind-
ness of his entertainers with an air composed in their honour, or that
of some member of the family. It was in this manner that most of his
music was composed. The following extract may help to convey some
more distinct notion of his singular powers in his own art. " The
fame of Carolan having reached the ears of an eminent Italian music-
master in Dublin, he put his abilities to a severe test; and the issue of
the trial confirmed him how well founded everything had been, which
was advanced in favour of our Irish bard. The method he made use
of was, as follows: he singled out an excellent piece of music, and
highly in the style of the country which gave him birth — here and
there he either altered, or mutilated the piece ; but in such a manner,
as that no one but a real judge could make a discovery. Carolan
bestowed the deepest attention upon the performer while he played it,
not knowing however that it was intended as a trial of his skill; and
that the critical moment was at hand, which was to determine his re-
putation for ever. He declared it was an admirable piece of music ;
but, to the astonishment of all present, said very humorously, in his
own language, " ta se air chois air bacaiglie ;" that is, here and

* Vol. iv. p. 374, et seq.

92 LITERARY SERIES. [FouRTH

there It limps and stumbles. He was prayed to rectify the errors,
which he accordingly did. In this state, the piece was sent from
Connaught to Dublin ; and the Italian no sooner saw the amendments,
than he pronounced Carolan to be a true musical genius."

Among the vices of Carolan's generation, there was one which was
most likely to have a fatal effect upon one whose profession was in a
considerable measure the essential creature of boon fellowship and
hospitable profusion — it was the characteristic custom of drunkenness,
which tinges the very poetry and sentiment of that day. The bottle,
and the jorum, and the sparkling bowl, were words invested with a
lyric power, insomuch that when the custom of hard drinking had
long begun to diminish in refined society, still poetry continued to shed
its charm around those images which have now become appropriately
transferred to the alehouse. Long after the days of our harper, " the
last of the bards," it was a customary part of hospitality to lock the
door, in order to leave no escape for " the ass who refuses his glass."
Nor are we without some old recollections of the last generation, which
come faintly from afar with jovial echoes upon memory's ear. Some
good pictures have been given in the name of Sir J. Barrington of the
general truth of which we have no doubt. Griffin's novel " The Collegi-
ans," contains some rich toned paintings of the same " good old days,"
which for nature and truth may well be called historical. These allu-
sions will recall much to the reader's mind of the true spirit of those days,
in which it was not easy for a minstrel to be sober; and hard drinking
was the disease and the inspiration of Carolan: his love of whiskey was
the love of a lover, — it was the theme of his most successful strain,
and he is said always to have composed his music with a bottle and
a glass a* his elbow. His physicians assured him at last, that he
could not live much longer, unless he gave up drinking. Carolan re-
solved to comply, and continued for some time to maintain that difficult
determination. His spirits iecame depressed, and he wandered in de-
jection round the town of Boyle, in which he had for some time dwelt.
But the practice had been carried too far, and the want of stimulus
had become a constitutional disease; temptations too occurred, and his
firmness, after a time, gave way. Among the tales told of Carolan,
there is one which, though seemingly absurd, is in reality intensely
natural, and a curious instance of the frailness of human virtue, enter-
ing into the compromise that can end but seldom in any way but one.
He was walking by the grocer's door, when a genial gale from within
brought back the fond association, and the vision of whiskey " came
upon the soul of Ossian." He entered perhaps without a will, — for a
moment the temptation was strong; but prudence and some degree of
shame came to his aid, and after a moment's struggle, he addressed
the lad behind the counter, " Well, my dear friend, you see I am a
man of constancy, — for six long weeks I have refrained from whiskey,
was there ever so great an instance of self-denial? But a thought
strikes me, and surely you will not be cruel enough to refuse one
gratiiication which I shall earnestly solicit. Bring hither a measure
of my favourite liquor, which I shall smell to, but indeed shall not
taste." The story goes, that on receiving the grateful fume, his
spirit rallied for a moment, and he poured forth his rapture in a vein

PERIOD.] THOMAS SOUTHERN. 93

of bacchanalian wit, which was worthy of poor Yorick. The tale is,
as we have observed, characteristic ; though some allowance is to be
made for the finical language in which the relater has thought proper
to tell it; nor are we sure of the judgment of the grocer's apprentice,
who was perhaps the sole witness, in matters of wit.

Such experiments were perhaps often repeated, and the passage
from the nostril to the lip — not very long — may have soon afforded an
easy example of Napoleon's famous adage, about passing " from the
sublime to the ridiculous." The minstrel soon drowned his virtue and
fished up his gay spirits in the congenial fountain, and the " measure
of his favourite liquor" ceased to pass back as it came to the critic
behind the counter. Carolan quickly relapsed into the old habit, and
while it renewed its insidious effects upon his health, he regained his
wonted powers of minstrelsy. It was perhaps shortly after the fore-
going incident, that he composed the famous piece, so well known to
every Irish ear, " Carolan's receipt." He composed it with words
which have not had so much vitality as his music ; they were (we un-
derstand) on the praise of whiskey. He was at that time on one of
his periodical visits to Mr Stafford at Elphin.

In 1733, he lost his wife to whom he was greatly attached, and the
loss affected his spirits deeply for a considerable time ; it afforded a
subject for his poetic powers, which are said to have been of no infe-
rior order. He was at the time in his sixty-third year, and consid-
erably broken in his frame.

His death happened a few years after, while he was staying at
Mrs M'Dermott's of Alderford, in the county of Roscommon. Of
his death, several traditionary accounts remain — we shall here give
that of his countryman Goldsmith. " His death was not more re-
markable than his life. Homer was never more fond of a glass than
he. He would drink whole pints of usquebaugh, and as he used to
think, without any ill consequence. His intemperance, however, in
this respect, at length brought on an incurable disorder; and when
just at the point of death, he called for a cup of his beloved liquor.
Those who were standing round him, surprised at the demand, endeav-
oured to persuade him to the contrary, but he persisted; and when
the bowl was brought him, attempted to drink but could not ; where-
fore, giving away the bowl, he observed with a smile, that it would be
hard if two such friends, as he and the cup, should part, at least with-
out kissing, and then expired."

CJjomag goutfjerm

BORN A. D. 1659 — DIED A. D. 1746.

SOUTHERN was born in Dublin in 1659, and entered the Dublin Uni-
versity in 1676. He did not continue his academical studies for more
than a year, when he quitted Ireland, and went to study law in
London. The temper of mind which was impatient of the studies of
the University, was not likely to be fixed by the severer attractions of

94 LITERARY SERIES. [FoUKTH

special pleading. Southern soon turned aside to dally with the lighter
muse.

]n 1682, the " Persian Prince," his earliest dramatic production,
was acted. One of the principal persons of this drama was designed
as a compliment to the duke of York, from whom he received a gra-
tuity in return. After the accession of this prince to the throne,
Southern obtained an ensigncy in the regiment of earl Ferrers, and
served in Monmouth's rebellion. After this was terminated by the
capture of that ill-fated nobleman, Southern seems to have left the
army and given himself wholly to dramatic composition. He is men-
tioned as having acquired more money by his plays than any writer
up to his time, and to have been the first to obtain a second and third
night of representation for the author of a successful play. He also
received sums till then unknown for his copyright, and gave larger
prices for prologues. Pope notices this, in his lines addressed to
Southern, with which we shall close this notice. Dryden having once
asked him how much he got by a play — was answered, £700 ; while, by
Dryden's comment on the circumstance, it appears that he had himself
never obtained more than £100. This we are more inclined to attri-
bute to the address and prudence of Southern, and to other causes of
a more general nature than to any superiority of dramatic power.
Any comparison between the two would, indeed, be too absurd; but
there is, nevertheless, an important consideration which we can here
do no more than merely state. It cannot but be felt — and in later
times it has become far too plain to be overlooked — that the acting
success of a drama is no criterion of the genius of the writer, or of
the intellectual qualities employed in its composition. Considerable
talent there, indeed, must be, to secure success ; but then it is mainly of
that kind which is generally understood by the term artistic, and having
the nature of skill rather than genius. We are the less desirous to
pursue this point, because, in recent times, it has become too plain to
be missed by any one. Indeed, some of the most thoroughly success-
ful stageplays of the present generation, indicate to a reader no talent
save in the very lowest degree — neither plot, character, passion, senti-
ment, nor the least power of exciting the smallest interest, unless in
strict reference to mere stage effect. The principle appears to be,
that it requires little power to awaken human sympathies with present
and visible action and scene. Dramatic skill has improved upon the
maxim of the Roman critic : —

Segnius irritant animos demissa per atirem,

Quam quso sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus, quaeque i

Ipse sibi tradit spectator.

The commonest incident, or most ordinary affection of humanity,
actually presented to the eye, has on the crowd a more thoroughly
awakening and attractive effect, than the noblest conceptions of genius,
or the most refined and delicate traits of sentiment or character. In
these remarks, we should regret much to be understood to depreciate
the consummate art whiqh, in modern fiction — for so far our remark

PERIOD.] THOMAS SOUTHERN. 95

may be easily extended — renders the very lowest degree of intellectual
power available.

Southern* who has, perhaps, the honour to be the great founder of
this our modern school of dramatic production, seems also to have
manifested a proportional command of those subordinate talents which
have since so much contributed to its success. By the address and
dexterity with which he practised the art of disposing of his tickets to
the best advantage, he contributed, at the same time, to the success
and to the produce of his dramas.

Notwithstanding these remarks, it must be admitted that Southern
is, in no small degree, to be exempted from the depreciating estimate
which they may be thoughi to imply. It was long before the stage had
reached its full command over the elements of poverty, dryness, and
triteness of incident, and attained the maximum of stage effect. South-
ern has no great power of any kind ; but it is evident that to the cul-
tivation of this great end, he adds considerable knowledge of the pas-
sions and some poetry. It may also be favourably noticed, that he
showed much good taste in freeing the drama from the extravagance
and impurity of the day in which he wrote. He was highly thought
of by Dryden; Gray also, a far superior critic, praises his pathetic
powers. It ought, however, to be a qualification of this praise, that
his success was greatly to be attributed to the skill with which he
seized on real incidents, which could not, by any clumsiness of treat-
ment, be deprived of their affecting interest. The story of Oroonoko
was true, almost to its minutest details. If read under this impression,
the reader will see that Southern has not done much ; and this is,
probably his chief production. The story was first told in a novel by
Mrs Behn — who had resided at the scene, been acquainted with the
parties, and witnessed the incidents and the catastrophe.

Southern lived to his eighty-fifth year. He lived the latter years
of his life in Tothill Street, Westminster, and was remarked to be a
constant attendant at the cathedral service. Prior to this he had re-
sided near Covent Garden ; and is described by Mr Oldys as a person
of grave and venerable exterior, dressed in black, " with his silver
sword and silver locks ;" and the following notice occurs among Gray's
letters to Horace Walpole — " We have old Mr Southern at a gentle-
man's house, a little way off, who often comes to see us. He is now
seventy-seven years old, and has almost wholly lost his memory; but
is as agreeable an old man as can be — at least I persuade myself so,
when I look at him and think of Isabella and Oroonoko." Dryden
appears to have placed him on the same rank with Otway, and is said
to have employed him to finish his own tragedy of Cleomenes. The
following are Pope's lines to Southern, on his birth-day in 1742.

Resigned to live — prepared to die,

With not one sin, but poetry,

This day Tom's fair account lias run

Without a blot to eighty-one.

Kind Boyle before his poet lays

A table with a cloth of bays ;

And Ireland, mother of sweet singers,

Presents her harp still to his fingers.

96 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

The feast his tow'ring genius marks

In yonder wild-goose and the larks !

The mushrooms show his wit was sudden,

And for his judgment, lo, a pudden !

Roast beef, though old, proclaims him stout,

And grace, although a bard, devout.

May Tom, whom Ileav'n sent down to raise

The price of prologues and of plays,

Be every birth-day more a winner,

Digest his thirty thousandth dinner ;

Walk to his grave without reproach,

And scorn a rascal and a coach.

It is rather curious to observe how nearly Pope's allotment of din-
ners approaches to the actual number of Southern's days, at the very
birth- day which he celebrates. This, with the known minute love of
precision which was characteristic of Pope, suggests the idea of a
calculation and an oversight. In endeavouring to be precise, the poet
forgot that he was setting a very near limit to the days he thus num-
bered. Southern lived till 1746 — four years longer.

BORN A.D. 1694. DIED A.D. 1747.

HUTCHESON, whose name holds an eminent place in the history of
metaphysical philosophy, was the son of a presbyterian minister in the
north of Ireland. The precise place of his birth is not mentioned;
but he was born, 8th August, 1694. It is said that he displayed early
indications of extraordinary intellectual power; and having been first
sent to school, somewhere in his native country, where he completed
so much of his education as is usually attained in schools — he was, in
his sixteenth year, sent to the university of Glasgow, which was mostly
preferred to our own university by the Irish dissenters.

In Glasgow he entered upon an assiduous course of study, and made
in most branches of human knowledge then pursued, a proficiency suited
to his talents, and to the character which he afterwards obtained.
Having selected the ministerial profession, he more especially directed
his attention to theological studies.

Having thus completed his university career, and mastered a varied
and comprehensive course of reading, he returned to his native country;
and, after undergoing the ordinary examinations, was admitted as a
preacher by the presbyterians, This arrangement was not, however,
carried into complete Effect, when it was interrupted by an earnest in-
vitation from several persons to whom his talent and acquirements were
known, to set up an academy near Dublin. There his success was im-
mediate and very great, but the reputation soon acquired by his first-
rate powers was greater still. Ordinary talents are not easily distin-
guished and require the aid of much industry, address, and prudence, to
place them in the light; and for one who becomes eminent, twenty at
least of equal pretensions fail: but, men like Hutcheson, even under
the most unfavourable circumstances, will soon be observed and dis-

PERIOD.] FRANCIS HUTCHESON. 97

tinguished — in every circle there is some clear-sighted eye ; and minds
of his class once fairly launched will soon emerge from vulgar compe-
tition. Hutcheson had only to come within the observation of Moles-
worth, Synge, and King, to obtain the allowance and stamp of intel-
lectual station. From the two first-named eminent writers, lord
Molesworth, and Dr Synge, bishop of Elphin, he received encourage-
ment and counsel in the publication of his first work, " An Inquiry
into the Ideas of Beauty and Virtue." This work, published anony-
mously, introduced him to lord Granville, the lord-lieutenant of
Ireland at the time. When this nobleman had read the essay, he
was so pleased with it that he sent to the bookseller desiring to be
informed of the author's name. The bookseller did not comply, and
was then intrusted with a letter for the author, desiring his acquaint-
ance. Hutcheson availed himself of this flattering incident, and was
always afterward received with high distinction by that nobleman.

A still more gratifying, as well as advantageous, consequence was
the friendship of archbishop King. To the active friendship of this
illustrious prelate, he was indebted for two escapes from prosecutions,
which have been called, and perhaps truly, malicious, in the arch-
bishop's court, for setting up a school without subscription to the canons
and for not having obtained the bishop's license. He was no less
fortunate in his acquaintance with primate Boulter, whose regard for
him is proved by the liberality of an endowment in the university of
Glasgow.

In 1728, he published his "Treatise on the Passions," which at
once obtained extensive reputation ; and also wrote some papers
which were published in a collection, entitled " Hibernicus' Letters"
— in these he discussed the subject of laughter in opposition to
Hobbes.

In 1729, his reputation had become widely diffused, so that, in his
own department of speculative inquiry, he had no rival. He had also
a very considerable, though subordinate, character as a successful
schoolmaster. The university of Glasgow, justly regarding him as
her own, and acting upon that enlightened and liberal economy which
has, in the course of time, so raised the intellectual character of Scot-
land, offered him the high honour of her chair of moral philosophy.
To Hutchesou this was far more than independence and honour ; it was
peculiarly the vantage-ground for his genius and his tastes. The
degree of LL.D. was added; and, as he was preceded by his reputa-
tion, disciples from every quarter crowded to drink moral wisdom at
the fountain of Glasgow. The popularity of Hutcheson was increased
by the combination of zeal with the most expansive benevolence which
governed his conduct, and transfused itself into his philosophy. He
was unwearied in his endeavours to promote the advancement of
every branch of academic acquirement, and especially of the divinity
classes.

He enjoyed such good general health, and, seemingly, possessed so
good a constitution, that he might well have looked forward to a long
period of useful exertion. But he fell a victim to a severe attack of
gout in his fifty-third year. He had married soon after settling in
Dublin, and had a son, Francis Hutcheson, M.D., who afterwards

VOL. V. G

98 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

published his " System of Moral Philosophy," in three books, Glasgow,
1755.

It would be impossible to enter into a minute and critical exami-
nation of the philosophy of Hutcheson, without viewing more fully than
would be quite consistent with our general plan, the systems of other
writers on moral philosophy. Without this we should commit the
injustice of seeming to place to his account the errors which are per-
haps inherent in the subject — as they are, at least, common to all by
whom it has been treated. We shall, therefore, simply be content to
offer a brief general statement of these great fundamental mistakes;
after which we shall, with the same brevity, endeavour to offer some
estimate of the main tenet of Hutcheson.

The same general tendency to generalize which may be traced in
the history of all time and of every part of human knowledge, was
developed, in its most vicious form, in the middle ages. We have
had frequent occasions to notice its effects on intellectual philosophy.
It also had its effects on moral philosophy.

To begin with the simplest principles, and reduce all known pheno-
mena to the most elementary origin, is, accordingly, the uniform
endeavour of the casuist; and in this, two great errors have been almost
uniformly committed, to an extent almost difficult to believe. First,
with regard to abstract principles — they are assumed, or attempted to
be fixed at a point anterior to any possible means of ascertaining them
— they begin before the beginning of human knowledge. The series
of causes, like the golden chain described by Homer, begins in the
nature and secret counsels of the Supreme Mind ; and if the abstract
and elementary principles of justice and virtue, of good and ill, have
any existence, it is not to be discerned by the casuist, or found in
his perplexed inquiries. The declared law of the Author of all good-
ness and wisdom, is clear as day-light. The moral and physical con-
stitution of human nature is practically ascertained enough, together
with the several laws of conduct, both instituted and conventional, and
the various interests which arise from it — so far as they follow from
these, the principles of right and wrong, of good and evil, &c., are
thoroughly understood: they ask no casuist to define them. And any
difficulty worthy of serious attention, will be found in the perplexity
of the special case to which these principles may have to be applied —
as, for instance, when there are various clashing rights or interests
to be adjusted. And it is for the clearing of such questions alone,
that casuistry is worth anything. The question, therefore, as to the
nature and origin of justice, &c., is not the reasonable foundation of
this branch of inquiry ; not that this origin, or this abstract nature,
do not exist, but because we know nothing about them — To have
any value, philosophy must begin with positive law and the reality of
things.

Secondly. From this we arrive at the next great source of per-
plexity among the casuists. Of the last-mentioned principles, the
constitution of nature branches into several important derivative
principles, in the application of which the most considerable ei'rors
and differences arise. And it is on these that we should be compelled
to digress largely into several statements and estimates of numerous

PERIOD.] FRANCIS HUTCHESON. 99

writers, whom we shall here pass with the summary charge of having
respectively adopted some one of several co-ordinate elements, and, by
great ingenuity, endeavoured to render it the foundation of their whole
system. As this censure is in some degree applicable to all, we shall
now at once return to Hutcheson, as offering a very sufficient illustra-
tion.

The fundamental principle of Hutcheson's philosophy is benevolence.
In this he supposes virtue to consist, and reduces to it all the other
virtuous affections of the mind. If the general or etymological sense
of this term were to be assumed, it must be allowed that its enlarged
comprehension might, without further inquiry, be offered as a term
coextensive with all the systems of virtue which have good in any form
for their object. But Hutcheson understands the word in its idiomatic
sense of good will towards others. It is at once apparent by what
species of constructive arguments, the great variety of familiar and
explicit motives which bear the general character of virtuous, and
have good for their end, must be interpreted, to convert them into re-
sults of human benevolence. The general fallacy is, in fact, a con-
fusion between the intention and the actual result. It is but a neces-
sary consequence of Hutcheson's principle, that he rejects the error
which generally prevailed among the casuists before him : that of re-
solving all human motives into self-love. There is, indeed, a curious
illustration of the little value of human systems, to be derived from
the existence of so strange an opposition. The exclusion here men-
tioned, has not, however, the merit of originating from a clear view of
the error, neither does it place the principle on its true grounds.
This praise belongs to bishop Butler. In truth, this was rendered
unattainable to Hutcheson, by the very principle of his theory. His
end of action having sole reference to others, must needs entirely ex-
clude the regard to self in every form. That the reader may more
fully understand the nature of this correction of an error, which is
not yet quite excluded from opinion — the selfish principle may be thus
expressed : — " We do good to others, because it is in some way plea-
surable to ourselves." The answer to this fallacy is to show that it
does not explain the simple fact of the pleasurable emotion itself. It
assigns a cause which is itself the thing to be explained.

The main practical proof on which Hutcheson relies, is the general
sense, that the mixture of any selfish motive takes away from the
merit of an action. The fallacy of any inference from this in sup-
port of his theory is, however, too palpable to be dwelt on ; the theory
is evidently taken for granted in the proof: there is also an equivoca-
tion implied. It may be admitted, to be sure, that a theory of pure
benevolence must be subject to such a deduction — a motive of self-re-
gard must, of course, be an admissible deduction from any profession
of pure regard to others. But the allowance can be no further ap-
plied. Beyond this the argument is resolvable to mere affirmations,
and terminates in the definition of a term. The word virtue may be
so defined as to exclude prudence, fortitude, self-control, and the dis-
ciplined moral sense. But as we have said, the main source of Hut-
cheson's error consists in not having observed the important distinc-
tion between the results of actions and the motives of the action; be-

100 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

tween affections of the mind and consequences of conduct. In conse-
quence of this fatal oversight, he speaks as if every impulse of the
mind must have its foundation in a previous deliberation on the ele-
mentary laws of social wellbeing. According to this view, it is plain
that all motions must, in some way, terminate in benevolence — from the
soldier who wades in blood, to the awful justice which commands and
represses the tender impulses of pity to pronounce the dreadful sen-
tence, and condemn the wretch who must die for the public good.
Assuredly, if the virtuous motives here supposed to govern, are to be
assigned to benevolence, there must be benevolence of very varied arid
very opposite kinds. In truth, a virtuous action is one which imme-
diately proceeds from a virtuous motive; and the subject is altogether
confused and perplexed by the common method of those numerous
casuists, who look further than the direct motive, in which not only
no confusion could arise, but scarcely a difference. These differences
have all arisen from the ingenious quibbling by which any one motive
can be deduced from any other. " Those three systems," observes
Adam Smith, " that which places virtue in propriety; that which places
it in prudence; and that which makes it consist in benevolence, are
the three principal accounts which have been given of the nature of
virtue. To one or other of them, all the other descriptions of virtue,
how different soever they appear, are easily reducible." Casuists ap-
pear to deal in easy virtue. As for us, who do not aspire to the
heights of any kind of philosophy, we hold that the good and evil
deeds of men are not, in ordinary conduct, the result of any theory of
public good, to comprehend which demands a life devoted to unwearied
study, with abilities of no low order. The great Creator of man has
variously endowed him with affections which are subservient to the
design of social life. Of these the workings and immediate moving
causes and tendencies are various. So far as they can be called virtue,
they are ruled by a disciplined sense of obligation, and by habitual
inclination, in conformity with express laws, established conventions,
and defined interests. They may well be called beneficent; but they
cannot be generically termed benevolent. On the contrary, they have
their several private and particular ends, and give rise to actions, habits,
and lines of conduct, in which the agent has no sentiment or motive
beyond the immediate satisfaction of a desire, the promotion of an
interest, or fulfilment of a duty, directly the object of his mind, and
without any contemplation of the general principle or the remote end.
Of the whole, it is true, there is a general design, based on some
elementary principle or principles, but for which these casuists will ever
search in vain. The ultimate law may be benevolence — but if so, it
is the benevolence of God.

We cannot precisely tell in what abstract obligation consists, nor in
what it begins ; — of abstract right and wrong, or abstract virtue, we
know nothing. But the first point at which they become the distinct
object of human cognizance is a different question. Human obligation
begins in certain laws declared or implied. In conformity to these laws,
is virtue to be found, and those affections which tend to this conformity
are virtuous affections. But an act may be good in its tendency, and
such as the most heroic virtue would dictate, and yet be not only not

PERIOD.] SIR HANS SLOANE. 101

virtuous, but vicious. Thus there is a maxim, that it is in the prudent
regard of every individual to his own interest that the public good is
best promoted — and that is generally true; but, assuredly, in this pru-
dence there is no benevolence, unless by great courtesy of construction:
nor, indeed, for the most part, any virtue but of the lowest kind — a
keen and intelligent self-interest. But while the individual obtains
the benefit — which is all that he has thought of — a small portion of
unthought-of good is added to the aggregate good of the system; and
this, if traced at all to design, must be attributed only to the Designer
who comprehends and overrules the whole.

On this view, — while it condemns Hutcheson's theory, in common
with most others, — yet it leads to a consideration much to his praise.
The ultimate result of the virtuous affections is clearly coextensive
with an enlarged scheme of benevolence. It also aptly harmonizes
with the spiritual economy of the law of God as revealed in the New
Testament — the " first and great commandment," and the second
which " is like unto it.

But we forbear from entering further on a diffusive topic. We have
no very high opinion of the utility of systems of casuistry. It seems
to be the only subject which is least understood by those who have devot-
ed their lives to its study. The truths of morality drop spontaneously
from the poet's pen and the preacher's tongue, and there are few well-
taught men in civilized society, who do not think more correctly than
any systematic writer, except Butler, whose practical chapter on moral
discipline, is worth all that we can recollect to have met with on
ethical philosophy. Men do not act from theories, but from laws,
customs, and the complex tendencies which passions, sentiments, and
habits, together, or separately, produce. Laws and institutions have
their origin, primarily, in the will of God; and, secondarily, in the
whole constitution of human nature. They exist in very various forms,
and change according to circumstances which determine or arise from
the social state, — while the natural affections and the institutions of
nature remain still the same, as first impressed by Him who launched
the planet on its path. Those first intuitions are not to be analyzed;
they are prime elements, and all attempts to derive them from some-
thing else, must end in specious nonsense. A true system of moral
philosophy must commence with a full and distinct enumeration of all
the moral elements separately considered, and proceed, by a careful
inquiry, into their effects in human life, under all its aspects and
stages of existence. It is from the clear and thorough understanding
of the separate and constituent elements, that the system which
involves their mutual relations can be discerned.

BORN A.D. 1660. — DIED A.D. 1752.

ALEXANDER SLOANE was the head of the Scottish colony in Ireland
in the reign of James I.; he was collector of taxes for the county of
Down. His son — the subject of this memoir — was born at Kilileagh,

102 LITERARY SERIES. [FOURTH

in that county, in 1660. His taste for natural history was early re-
markable: and his disposition was so intensely studious that in his
sixteenth year of age he was attacked by a spitting- of blood which
caused great fear for his life, and confined him for three years to his
chamber. On his recovery he applied himself to the study of medi-
cine, and especially to chemistry and botany. To pursue these studies
with more advantage, he visited London, where he remained four
years; he there became acquainted with Boyle and Ray, from each of
whom he obtained much valuable counsel and aid in his favourite
studies.

From London he went on to Paris, where he derived a considerable
accession to his knowledge from the lectures of Duberney and Tour-
nefort; and, perhaps, still more from his botanical excursions with
Magnal, an eminent botanist of Montpelier.

On his return, his acquirements in his favourite pursuit were very
great, and he was enabled to communicate much both of information
and valuable specimens to Ray, who frequently acknowledges his obli-
gation in his " History of Plants." Sloane now became acquainted
with the illustrious Sydenham, who took him into his house and en-
deavoured to advance his professional interests.

But Sloane's adoption of the medical profession was chiefly the
effect of his love of botany — a branch of knowledge which seems to
require some very peculiar turn of intellect not easy to describe, but
easily observed in those who attain decided success in its pursuit. He
abandoned his apparently fair prospects for the love of the favourite
and absorbing pursuit, and accepted the situation of physician to the
duke of Albemarle, who was going out as governor to Jamaica. The
temptation was unquestionably at that time too great to be resisted.
The vegetable nature of America, and still more of its tropical islands
and shores, was an unexplored field, interesting for the rich promise
it offered to the curious zeal of inquiry, as well as for the questions
which were entertained upon the subject. The botanist had, till then,
confined his research to Europe, and the range, therefore, for Sloane's
more adventurous curiosity, was vast, and necessarily profuse of novel
interest and discovery. There had been, till then, a doubt entertained
by the most learned botanists whether the vegetable productions of the
New World were not wholly different from those of the old continents.
The doubt was set at rest by a catalogue of plants collected in Jamaica
identical with European specimens. Sloane, in addition to eight hundred
specimens of West Indian plants, also brought a rich collection of
animal specimens. His labours were also eulogized by his contempo-
raries for the astonishing industry they evinced; having only remained
fifteen months in Jamaica. On the death of the duke of Albemarle,
he returned to London.

In 1694, he was elected physician of Christ's Hospital, and must
have made a very rapid advance in his profession: for, in addition to
the inference to be derived from the fact of this preferment, it is
known that he was independent of its emoluments. These he received,
but it was only to return them to the Hospital for the extension of its
advantages, and for the relief of its poorer inmates.

In 1 693, he had been elected secretary to the Royal Society, and, by his

PERIOD.] SIR HANS SLOANE. 103

exertion and influence, revived the publication of its transactions which
had been for some years discontinued — to these he was himself a fre-
quent contributor.

In 1695, he married a daughter of Alderman Langley. — And, in
1697, published his " Catalogue of the Native Plants of Jamaica."

In 1701, he became possessed of a valuable museum collected by his
friend Mr William Courteen ; this collection greatly enlarged that
which his own industry had formed, and which, at his death, became
the foundation of the British Museum.

In that period the species of knowledge to which Sloane was devoted,
occupied proportionally a higher share of public estimation than at
any subsequent period. It was still haloed round by the visionary
lights of alchemy and enchantment; though these hallucinations of
mankind had been dissipated, there lingered an imaginary charm about
the objects in which they had been conversant: while, at the same
time, the opposite impulse which has its origin in sober reason, gave
no less importance to researches which tended to restore the fields, skies,
and elements, to the empire of reality. The higher and more intellec-
tual sciences had at that time but recently been developed by Newton,
and his contemporaries. And the mere collections of curious research,
always valuable as materials for knowledge, had then a far higher im-
portance than the very sciences to which they have since given rise,
or been the foundation. The industry of Sloane had surpassed his con-
temporaries, and his singular munificence had extended the results of
his industry — his skill, as a physician, increased his intercourse, and
gave a more sterling value to his claims. The Transactions of the
lloyal Society, in the publication of which he took an active part, and
to which he was a constant and useful contributor, placed him in im-
mediate contact with the ablest men of his day. The consideration of
this combination of circumstances enables us to understand the high
consideration which seems to have attached to Sloane, beyond any pre-
tension in his intellectual character, or in the importance of his dis-
coveries. Eminent worth — unquestionably the highest claim to respect —
unless when accompanied by elevated station and commanding power,
can leave little to the record of human praise. The munificence which
has left durable bequests to the British public has well earned the
meed of national gratitude; but, when the fact is written, all that can
be added is the sounding amplification of eulogy — too often abused to
have much value. We offer these reflections, as we trust they may
enable tbe reader to understand, more fully, the necessity under which
we are compelled to offer an account of this illustrious physician and
virtuoso, far from commensurate with the important position which he
filled in society. In truth, it is only when intellectual pretension is
backed by far more popular attractions, that men of the highest order
can well take their place in the world's eye ; and the popular manner
and graceful address will, to a great extent, dispense with the more
sterling claim : and thus it has been, and still is, that popular distinc-
tion is often hard to be understood by those who fail to penetrate the
true secret of public favour. A commanding fame, like Newton's,
could shine through the clouds of unpopularity, and command respect,

104 LITERARY SERIES. [FoURTH

and admiration, without courting favour ; but the station conceded to
Newton's pre-eminence, was, on his death in 17275 conferred on Sloane,
a more popular character. This fact is, however, not invidiously men-
tioned here, notwithstanding the prejudice of comparisons ; Sloane was
eminently deserving of all honour; and his elevation to the president's
chair, in the Royal Society, was a just tribute to worth, munificence,
zeal for science, and professional skill. We believe that, on this occa-
sion, it was that he presented one hundred guineas to the Society, and
a bust of Charles II.

His medical reputation was such as to place him in the foremost
rank. He had been constantly consulted by queen Anne, whom he
attended in her last illness. On the accession of George I. he was
created a baronet, and appointed physician-general to the army. In
1727, he was appointed physician to George II.

In 1733, when he had attained his seventy-third year, he began to
feel the necessity of contracting his scope of activity: he now resigned
the presidency of the Royal College of Physicians, to which he had
been elected in 1719- In his eightieth year, his resignation of the
presidentship of the Royal Society was received by this distinguished
body with marks of high respect. He had, some time previous, pur-
chased the manor of Chelsea, and established there a botanic garden,
which he gave to the apothecaries' company on condition of a quitrent
of £5 ; and the annual delivery of fifty different specimens of plants to
the Royal Society, till the number presented should amount to two
thousand. Having experienced the injurious effects of an illness con-
sequent on the severe winter of 1739> he now thought it full time to
relinquish his profession, to the fatigues of which he found his strength
unequal, and removed from Bloomsbury to his Chelsea manor. In
this retreat he still continued to receive persons of rank and distinction,
and was often visited by the royal family. He also continued to give
medical advice to all who came to consult him, and showed the most
obliging attention to those who came to see his museum. Though
feeble, he still retained the entire possession of his intellect, and was
free from disease. His decline was gentle, and he was accustomed to
express his wonder at finding himself still alive. He died at last, after
a few days' illness, and without suffering. At his death he left legacies
to all the hospitals in London. His death took place on the 1 1th
January, 1753, in his ninety-second year.

His museum he left to the public, on the condition that £20,000
should be paid to his executors. According to his own estimate, the
whole collection was worth four times the sum ; so that the value of
this splendid legacy, to England, may be estimated at £60,000. In
the collection, there were gold and silver coins which, as bullion
alone, would have brought £7000, besides also numerous precious
stones, and a library of 50,000 volumes, many of the most costly de-
scription. The government took the offer, and paid the stipulated
sum. There was an act passed for the purchase of Sir Hans Sloane's
collection, with that of the earl of Oxford, at the time offered for sale
by his daughter, the duchess of Portland, and for placing all together
with the Cottonian library. They were accordingly collected and

PEUIOD.] SIR HANS SLOANE. 105

arranged in Montague House, in Bloomsbury, and formed the com-
mencement of the British Museum, which was first opened to the public
in 1759.

This last act of Sir Hans Sloane's life is his great and true claim
to the grateful memory of England. In that splendid national institu-
tion the students of nature may find his monument; there the memorials
of his unwearied and successful devotion to their favourite pursuits
still claim the tribute of veneration, and breathe their " circumspice" to
those who look for his monument.

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION
TO FIFTH PERIOD,

EXTENDING

FROM THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE III. TO HIS DEATH.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES

WHO FLOURISHED DURING THAT PERIOD.

HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

FIFTH PERIOD.

Prefatory Remarks — This period one of transition — Outline of events, constitu-
tional change in England — General party changes — Religion — Literature, arts,
and general civilization.

Prefatory JRemarks. — Before we enter upon the most interesting
and important division of those memoirs which yet remain to be writ-
ten, it becomes necessary to call the attention of our readers to several
considerations, connected with the changes which must now affect the
execution of our work. Through a long succession of obscure, but
yet violent changes, for the most part too irregular in their operation,
and too much attributable to the working of external and accidental
forces for the orderly and progressive course of regular history — we
have at length arrived at that point at which, for the most part, regu-
lar history stops. If this has any truth, with relation to the history
of other great countries, in which a settled and unbroken progress of
constitutional causes has advanced from early times to the present —
how much more must it be felt in the anomalous records of Ireland.
Here the steps of civil and social progress have moved fitfully, with
long pauses and sudden starts. Nor has it often been allowed to occur,
that the advance, which is ever the unforced and inevitable result of
national tranquillity, has been suffered to put forth its blossoms and
mature its fruits, uninterrupted by the storm and flood of commotion
and terror. A sense of insecurity has become indigenous. Our civil
atmosphere has been surcharged with a menace and a gloom which few
have been willing to abide, whose means could afford, or whose inter-
ests demanded, a more still and salubrious clime. The civilizing in-
fluence of refined luxury, and the enriching powers of commerce, have
been repelled by causes which it would be great injustice to charge as
imputations to the discredit of the Irish people. But we cannot avoid
saying, — as it is a consideration by which our remaining task must
be materially affected, — that it is so replete with the materials of re-
proach to individuals and to bodies of men — so full also of painful de-
preciation, even where praise is to be allowed — and so beset at every
step with necessary dissent from opinions formed in the heat of party
contention, and unfit to bear the touchstone of historical indifference,
that it will be hard to pass clear from censures which, we frankly

110 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

confess, we would, if possible, avoid, through this unsafe and uncertain
period. In a former introduction it was our endeavour to show, that
the incidents with which we had mainly to deal, were free from any
essential connexion with the party quarrels to which they have been
forcibly annexed by the mendacity of faction. Even for the effort, we
have not escaped from censure. Other countries look to the present
and the future ; but Irish politicians will, in despite of truth and dis-
cretion, lash their country to the remote past, and contend on insults
and grievances, which, in the course of nature, are buried, and, in
prudence, ought to be forgotten.

But such a resource no longer remains. Our history is now become
the living and raging torrent of the present generation. Not, indeed,
we must say, that it should be thus; for within these few years changes
have taken place, which might suggest the prudence of trying for a
while the effects of tranquil encouragement to the arts of peace. But
so it is — nor can we, — to take one example, — approach that bygone
fact, the legislative union of Great Britain and Ireland, without an
unpleasant sense of constraint, arising from the consideration, that in
Ireland it remains a debatable question, to excite angry, though unrea-
sonable feelings. lu the whole history of that most stirring and momen-
tous interval of Ireland's most eminent men, it is the same — every name
the password of faction, every step over passions, prejudices, and ani-
mosities :

per ignes

Suppositos cineri doloso.

Flood, Grattan, Charlemont, and the long list of honoured names which
come to the memory when their names are mentioned, bring associa-
tions difficult to be avoided by those who are most likely to think of
them with interest. We recollect, it is true, the well-merited compli-
ments which have been paid to some of the biographers of the same
period, for the discretion with which they have threaded their way
through this class of difficulties. We perfectly concur in the praise
so earned ; but our task is, to some extent, different. Our undertak-
ing is qualified by a condition which does not, in all cases, permit us
to turn aside at will from that which is delicate or embarrassing. We
may, it is true, and are in duty bound to avoid touching on the tender
points of family pride or sensibility. We are not, and cannot, be bound
to rake up the cinders of forgotten scandal for the public. But still
we have undertaken to write history ; and there are truths to be
written, and acts of justice to be done, which, so far as his private
feelings are concerned, the biographer might well desire to avoid.
Such is the description of one very important circumstance attendant
upon our entrance into the period now remaining. With respect
to more recent events which have occurred within our own genera-
tion, they are excluded from any very prominent place in these pages,
by the happy circumstance, that their principal actors are still alive.

There is another very essential circumstance, which, though it has
hitherto much interfered with the uniformity of our narrative, must
now become one of its peculiar conditions. Not a few of our greatest
men, in every department, have found their sphere of action in the

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. Ill

political and literary circles of London. In men like Burke and Sheri-
dan, Ireland has paid back to England her old hereditary debt, for the
many illustrious scions which have been planted and thriven in her soil.
We shall be called on to exert much nice discretion in touching on
the great field of European politics, in which Irish statesmen and
warriors have borne not merely a forward, but a foremost part. Men
whose minds have given a stamp to the age, have sprung from Irish
blood, and in despite of her isolation, have secured to their country her
place among the nations of modern Europe. Among the most prominent
consequences which this circumstance must have upon the method which
we have hitherto adopted, there is one of which it may be expedient that
the reader should be apprised. Instead of pursuing the strictly chro-
nological order, which has hitherto been our main principle of arrange-
ment, it will be in some measure necessary to group our persons ac-
cording to the place and general character of their lives. By this
means we shall evidently avoid the necessity of prolix repetitions of
the same series of historical incidents. The period of British and Irish
history which especially requires this precaution, is one singularly dis-
tinguished by the magnitude and rapid accumulation of the events
which both the divisions thus suggested would comprise. The marked
events of Irish history in the latter end of the eighteenth and begin-
ning of the nineteenth centuries, called forth a rich and brilliant dis-
play of character and talent. The history of England is, in a differ-
ent way, no less distinguished for characters and events of the very first
magnitude. According to that arrangement, we shall be enabled to fol-
low out a distinct outline of the history of this country, under the
lives of Charlemont, Flood, Grattan, and a few more names less for-
tunately connected with their country's records; while the memoirs of
Burke and Castlereagh are successively connected with the most mo-
mentous events which are contained in the records of modern history
— perhaps, indeed, (for the importance of these events is not yet fully
ascertained,) in the records of time.

The period one of transition — To trace with tolerable precision the
vast changes of which the development begins to become perceptible,
from the commencement of the period now to occupy our attention,
would require a volume to itself. We shall avail ourselves of the many
occasions which must present to illustrate a subject of such deep and
pregnant interest: but it is here our chief purpose to offer a more
general and elementary sketch than the object of the succeeding nar-
ratives will permit, of those great political processes which will be
more or less involved in the entire tone of the subsequent memoirs,
and which will, at some future period, be generally understood to con-
stitute the characteristic interest of the history of the present
century. The period from which we are next to borrow our charac-
ter and colouring, is pre-eminently a period of transition. This is the
principle by which all the future details of these volumes will be go-
verned, and which, whether much or little expressed, will be a prime
element involved throughout. The reader cannot have it too distinctly
in view. For this reason it must, in this preliminary statement, be
our chief object to offer some needful expositions, which might here-

112 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

after be felt to embarrass the narrative, or break the interest of those
details in which they may be most required.

The most cursory reader of newspapers, if he has even a superficial
acquaintance with the state of his own times, is aware, generally, of the
magnitude of the events — the rapidity of the practical discoveries in
science, and improvements in art — the changes in manners — the in-
crease of wealth — the diffusion of knowledge — and the democratic ten-
dency which has shown itself in political opinions and events. These
broad features are such as to have escaped not even the intelligent
peasant's attention. And it may be also as distinctly recognised, that
the progress of these changes has been in the main marked by a very
obvious acceleration, which, though subject to apparent occasional re-
tardations, has yet considerable marks of uniformity, when amidst
the complication of the moving scene, the eye begins to detect and
trace the currents and forces of human tendency.

Of this, the elementary principle is one of extreme simplicity, and
by no means such as to demand any ingenuity to detect. We cannot
here, for obvious reasons, go far into elementary investigation, and
must be satisfied with that degree of expansion which may be sufficient
to lead intelligibly to our intended applications. It would, assuredly,
much advantage every portion of our future task, could we, within
the requisite bounds, convey clear and well-defined notions upon those
moral, intellectual, and physical wants and powers, by means of which
the first rude elements of civilization, when once committed to their
agency, are nurtured and developed; the law by which this develop-
ment gains progress; the means by which it is variously modified, in-
terrupted, and transferred; the laws of its retardations and accelera-
tions, and those by which it is preserved. Such is the rough outline of
the theory, to some broken portions of which we must now for a moment
beg the thoughtful attention of the reader. From the very beginning
of time, a gradual accumulation of the elements of civilization can be
vaguely traced, with still increasing distinctness. It has, however,
been always subject to the action of external forces, so violent as not
only to retard its progress, but to alter its place and direction: this
is the main lesson of ancient history. Civilization appears to have
advanced by long stages — to have received apparent checks — to have
changed its climate, and reappeared wearing some new features, and
with some new elements of progress. Looked upon without regard
to partial or local interruptions, it will appear to have travelled from
climate to climate, gathering from each some varied element; and
from age to age, uniformly accumulating breadth and depth. In the de-
scent of ages, and amid the revolutions of dynasties and empires, the
knowledge and experience of each great period of time has been trans-
mitted, to be augmented and improved in the following. Two general
causes have given to the progress thus described its character of ac-
celeration: first, and chiefly, the increase which every part of progress
is likely to derive from the increase of all the rest. This, as a gene-
ral principle, demands no great reflection to perceive, though in detail
it would be too difficult and complex to be followed, unless in a book
devoted to the subject: it is the vast science of which political economy

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 113

is but a chapter. The second is more evident still: with the advance
of knowledge and all the arts of life, the proportion of the more wealthy
and informed classes has a tendency to increase ; and, with this in-
crease, many causes of progress become increased or developed.
Thus, as the aristocratic principle in early stages has gradually gained
ground upon the despotic, — the democratic, in its turn, has gained upon
both. But let us for a moment pause; we are upon perilous ground.
There never, perhaps, was a period in which it is more impera-
tively a duty to be guarded in the statement of such general prin-
ciples, than at the present, when the maxims of political science have
acquired a certain degree of popular currency. In a free statement
of the principle of human progress, it is not to be concealed that we
necessarily state also the elementary principle of democracy, the prin-
ciple of which has been glaringly mis-stated by a large class of popu-
lar writers and orators. The democrat and the revolutionary jour-
nalist have placed it on grounds not only false, but pernicious; such,
indeed, as to give it a dangerous tendency, which it does not other-
wise possess. The "rights of man," the " will of the people," and all such
other phrases, as they have been commonly applied, involve the utter
denial of all rights, and the dissolution of society; they who use such
language, either mean something else which it does not express, or
use the words merely as the trumpet-notes of sedition.

The principle is strictly this, that the effect of social progress is a
growing tendency to equalization. This is, however, a merely theo-
retic result, to which, according to strict science, there would be a per-
petual approach, as to an infinitely distant point — the perfection of the
social state — of this the moral impossibility can easily be proved. The
social system is radically founded on two distinct first principles ; first,
on positive institution, in the consideration of which we are here un-
concerned; and secondly, on the natural inequalities of mankind — in-
equality of physical strength — of intellectual powers — of moral tem-
per— so that, if the crowd were supposed to start fairly from the most
perfect level, very few years could pass without a despotism or aris-
tocracy, and a system of coercive institutions, adapted more or less
to the rude first stages of national existence, The result of all human
progress is, as we have stated, a modified equalization, and a remote
approach towards a state which cannot have existence without a radical
alteration in human nature. Such a vision, indeed, appertains to those
visionaries who have raved about the perfectibility of man, and urged
the dissolution of society. And we must here, by the way, observe,
that if a certain class of some English historians and biographers who
have recently been eloquent in praising the philosophy of Jacobinism
— spoken of the " enlightened science " of the national convention, and
called the radical demolition of the social state in France " a great
progress of regeneration," — had any precise notion of the science
thus rashly named, they would have at once perceived the utter absurd-
ity of the clever and eloquent visionaries, whose frantic ravings so
widely misled the intellect of nations, in despite of those practical re-
sults which contradicted them so soon and so entirely.

The real progressive equalization of which it here concerns us to
speak clearly and distinctly, is no enforced or revolutionary demolition

VOL. V. II

114 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

of orders and privileges. It is the visibly spontaneous result of those
ameliorations arising from commerce and knowledge, as they become
diffused; by means of which the inferior ranks grow richer and wiser,
and in virtue of which, the increase of wealth and the expansion of
national mind have continued to broaden from age to age, and the pro-
ductive and inventive powers of the entire mass to increase. Hence
the acceleration to which we adverted, and which we consider to be the
peculiar characteristic of modern times.

There is, however, another essential principle in which these consid-
erations are largely involved. So far as we have gone, the revolu-
tionary character of the period before us remains untouched; we have
undertaken to view it as a period of transition. At first sight it might
seem to be the inference from all that we have stated — that those
abrupt stages in the progress of nations, which are termed revolu-
tions, are uncontemplated in the general law of progress. The con-
trary is, however, the truth ; and hence the real necessity for the wide
compass of our remarks. There is an antagonistic principle essential
to the existence of society. If rightly considered, those great consti-
tutional structures of law and civil government, which are essential to
civilized society, are not, and never have been, (we think never can be,)
of the same elastic and progressive character as those causes which we
have previously pointed out. They may be more or less elastic in their
texture ; but, simply considered, are the principle of stability, opposed
to, and governing the principles of change. The one partakes of the
spontaneous characters of nature; the other of art. One is independent
of human design, and advances unobserved; the other, though overruled
by many causes, is originated in the wisdom or folly of statesmen and coun-
cils. But the law of civil institutions is here to be noted for its stationary
character. It stands still, and sets bounds to the growing structure of so-
ciety.* The uncalculated expansion of moral and intellectual forces and

* This elementary truth is of some importance to those -who -would wish to
investigate the foundations and primary laws of civil society. We do not recol-
lect to have seen it explained as we think its importance deserves. The forces
which preserve a system of polity, and those which advance national progress, are,
in some respects, antagonistic forces. The latter we have fully stated above; the
other consists in a combination of powers. There are some of them, as, for in-
stance, opinion, common to both ; others, as laws, institutions, and the adminis-
trative and deliberative powers which reside in councils, senates, and individuals,
when taken together, and viewed in strict reference to the principle here stated,
constitute the conservative, and, at the same time, the retarding power. The
mutual opposition of these principles is an inherent necessity in the state of man,
and not as the demagogue would imply, an evil to be removed by violence. It
holds a line which, however shifted, must continue somewhere to be found, till
man becomes both all-wise and all-just. The principle here stated, though it car-
ries with it some appearance of refining, yet when clearly announced, is almost,
if not entirely, axiomatic. If the reader should desire to look very closely into the
elementary constitution of this antagonism, it depends on several causes ; first, the
fact that political foresight can see but doubtfully, and but a little way — the wisest
man can no more regulate the remote progress of events, than he can add a cubit
to his stature ; and as it often happens that ultimate progress is to be attained by
immediate and general evils, the little that human wisdom can see must operate
rather to the discouragement, than the promotion of changes. Secondly, the
mere fact that the advances of human progress are spontaneous, indefinite, and
not, for the most part, such as to indicate any very obvious course of legislative

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 115

requisitions — the wide increase of wants and refinements — the altered
form and symmetry of the frame of things — goes on for ages, accumulat-
ing strength and pressure, until, at last, some moment must of necessity
arrive, when there is a balance of the two great antagonistic forces;
and at such a point, for reasons obvious enough, they may long con-
tinue in equilibrium, which would be fearful, but that, like some fatal
affections of the heart, it offers no perceptible symptoms, till some
seemingly slight incident gives the fatal impulse, which is no more to
be checked than the avalanche when it has left its point of suspension.
Some imagined accident, itself in reality a result of the disease, gives
the fatal signal, and the ancient shell begins to sever into flaws, or
bursts asunder with portentous ruin, and frees the pent elements of
human progress, with the ruin, perhaps, of a generation of mankind —
for we should not pass on without observing, that of revolution the
immediate event is uncertain; it has always fearful oscillations, and
though beneficial when viewed with reference to ages and the advance
of mankind, to the place of its origin, it is at best a cure through the
means of disease — the operation may bring life or death. But to return.

These are but general facts, our special duty will be to point their
application to the period before us. The best illustrations of this will
arise in the memoirs of eminent individuals, whose names are insepar-
able from the political, literary, and social history of their times. A
few very cursory outlines must be enough in this place.

Outline of events. — As the application of these general principles
is the main object of this illustration, we shall be here content to
notice the great characteristic events of this period no further than
this purpose may require. More detailed notices of the same events
must form a principal portion of our subsequent labours. To appre-
ciate distinctly either the great constitutional changes, or the moral,
social, and intellectual advances, on which we design to dwell more
fully, it may be useful to many of our readers to have in mind some
such general sketch of the great causal events as we shall now very
briefly offer. In looking back to trace the beginnings of that great re-
volution, of which the whole history of modern times is but an account,
it is vain to inquire for the first event; the most penetrating sagacity

expediency, while the repeal or enactment of a law is necessarily encumbered
with forms, discussions, oppositions, and all the accumulation of prepossession and
ignorance, which must retard the decisions of every deliberative body. Lastly,
there is, both in individuals, as well as in corporate institutions, an inseparable
tenacity of power. Without this, it is evident that no power could exist. It
is the essential vitality of a system. That life, which, though it may be but a,
step to a better state, cannot be yielded without a struggle, because the transi-
tion is through the gates of death. Man, we know, is destined to rise again from
the empire of the grave ; but when a nation is sick to death, there is no consola-
tory assurance but in the physician, who can retard the menaced disruption of the
vital powers, and by firm resistance govern and guide to sane issues those spon-
taneous efforts, which, when they set in, cannot be repressed, and may not with
certainty be overruled. The powers which advance the world, without the coun-
teraction of these powers which retard, are the same which would terminate in
the destruction of States. It is not by its wisdom, but by its wants, that public
will operates for good ; it is a blind force, but it is one of the forces of nature.
After all, the resisting power is but another. Both are essential ; the extremes to
which both are ever tending are the evils to be feared.

116 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

can but trace a little farther back ; and wherever the understanding- can
first clearly reach the precise social workings of any place and time, that
will seem to be the beginning. While, throughout, those moral and
political workings which we have endeavoured to define, have been
gaining the point of efficient power, and throwing out occasional, local,
and partial indications, seldom to be rightly comprehended till seen afar
from the vantage-ground of time. An attentive observation, directed
either to popular history, or to the conflict of political opinions and
the expositions of public writers and speakers, or still more to the
general impressions of the public mind, as manifested in private
circles, cannot fail very clearly to perceive how confused a notion
of the real progress of the current of human affairs is obtained by
those who seem to be most actively engaged or keenly interested in
the movements of their own day. We have more than once adverted to
this remarkable truth, and feel here tempted to quote a passage from
one of the letters of Sir Walter Scott, in which it is very strikingly
expressed. Having alluded to Walpole's memoirs of the last ten years
of George II., he proceeds, " It is acrid and lively, but serves, I
think, to show how little those who live in public business, and, of
course, in constant agitation and intrigue, know about the real and
deep progress of opinions and events. The memoirs of Sir George
Mackenzie are of the same class; both immersed in little political de-
tail, and the struggling skirmish of party, seem to have lost sight of
the great progressive movements of human affairs. They put me
somewhat in mind of a miller, who is so busy with the clatter of his
own wheels, grindstones, and machinery, and so much employed in
regulating his own artificial mill-dam, that he is incapable of noticing
the gradual swell of the river from which he derives his little stream,
until it comes down in such force as to carry his whole manufac-
tory away before it."*

The advance of intelligence and wealth had longbeen gathering power
and growth in England, as through all the States of civilized Europe,
when the great rebellion in the time of Charles I. shook loose the con-
stitutional ligaments and joinings of the then existing frame of the
commonwealth, and a revolution began which met with various stops
and impulses, but which could not stand still until a level had been at-
tained fully commensurate with the stature of the public mind. It
ran through its natural stages as the opposite forces prevailed, until,
with much crime and madness on one side, and no great wisdom or
virtue on the other, the revolution was brought to a most happy ter-
mination by the change which placed William III. upon the throne.
From this great era England and Ireland — and every State in
Europe — went on in the ordinary course of national progress, though
with very unequal steps; improving in condition, and gathering new
strength in trade and knowledge for a few generations, little inter-
rupted by any wide or permanent obstacle. During the interval thus
described, Ireland is mainly remarkable for that inequality which has
been often observed in the course of this book, and which we shall
more fully explain presently. The popular pressure which she opposed
«

* Lockhart's Life of Scott, Vol. vi.

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 117

against the barriers of jurisdiction was but slight, compared with the
force and energy of democratic resistance and popular self-assertion iu
England. She had, as yet, no people, and was chiefly subject to the
collisions of her divided aristocracy,* and the various action of other
causes; the enforced partiality of government to English interests,
and the official maladministrations which were the necessary result
of such a state of things. And this statement may be taken as a sum-
mary description of the condition of the country, from the revolution
of 1688 till the commencement of the American war.

At this point Ave arrive at another and very advanced stage in the
history of European, and, still more, of British progress. The begin-
ning of the disputes which led to the American war was another of
those shocks, of which the effect was expansive, inevitable, and propor-
tioned to the real progress which had been gained in the previous
interval. The struggle in which the States of the American Union
shook off the colonial yoke, was but an event which must sooner
or later have occurred — but we are here only concerned with some
remoter consequences. The shock of the struggle and of its event
reached England, Ireland, and France ; and variously affected them,
according to their then existing conditions. These several impulses,
ere long, became in a manner combined, or were perhaps severally
modified and augmented by a mutual reaction. Both of these consid-
erations will be of use to us. We must first observe the event
with regard to Ireland.

The jealousy of commercial interests, in which the disadvantages
had, of course, been felt by the weaker, operated to create a disunion
between the two kingdoms. To maintain this superiority was an obli-
gation enforced on the British government by the English people. In
Ireland, a growing discontent on this score, augmented by other local
discontents, was to be dealt with by the policy of government; and for
this end the Irish parliament was to be managed by all those means which
have been found effectual for such purposes. To extort concessions to
the superiority and admissions of the interference of the English com-
mons; to repress the outcries of commercial grievance; and to bring
the income of the revenue to its highest level, were the primary
duties of the vice-regal administration. And, for this, the Irish par-
liament was to be gained by the most profligate system of corruption
and disunion. By taxation beyond the wealth of the country, a most
exorbitant pension list was maintained — sinecures and offices did their
ordinary work — and even national dissensions of old standing were
pressed into the service, and the hands of government were strengthen-
ed by the cultivation of those rooted animosities, which have mainly
depressed and retarded the true interests of the country. But there
was beneath the surface a growing intelligence, and a spirit of re-
sistance gathering. It only required the necessary occasion and the
impulse to put it into motion. They came together across the waves
of the Atlantic. The progress of the American war, while it commu-
nicated popular impressions, of which the effects were not very re-
mote, placed England in a position of the most formidable emergency.

* The word is here used in its most general sense.

118 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

A league of continental hostility appeared to menace an overwhelming
addition to the exhausting struggle into which she had been betrayed,
and there came an interval in which the safety of the Ocean Queen
seemed compromised, when

" The boldest held his breath

For a time."

But the exigency thus created was in Ireland productive of momen-
tous consequences; in the alarm of immediate invasion the northern
city of Belfast applied for protection to government — the answer
of the Irish secretary was an acknowledgment of helplessness;
and the effect was one of which the remotest consequences might have
been clearly seen to the simplest political understanding. This effect
was the arming of the Irish volunteers. This movement, which here-
after will be fully detailed, originated in no party design— it was as
purely patriotic as it is reasonable to demand in any confederation of
armed men. Its immediate object was soon attained; the menaced
invader, whose main dependence was the ancient character of the Irish
for readiness to join any enemy of England, shrunk back from the
noble display of courage and patriotism which the emergency of Eng-
land had thus called forth. It, however, so happened, from causes to
be explained further on, that the increasing political intelligence and
spirit of Ireland became at this anxious moment concentrated into
a combination of patriotism, genius, and public virtue. The posi-
tion of independent strength thus gained, could not fail to be
quickly felt by all parties. The effect was universal, as the real char-
acter of the circumstances was imposing. It was no secret com-
bination, such as this nation had been so often depressed and diseased
by, of the basest elements: — the hopes of plunder, the phrenzy of
tumultuary commotion, or the low ambition of demagogues. It was the
concentration of the best elements — the substantial yeomen and the
thriving burghers of the commercial north, armed by the government,
and officered by the entire nobility and gentry of the country. The
learned professions furnished their liberal quota of scholars and gen-
tlemen— the university of Dublin, as well as the law courts, gave eclat
and credit to ranks, which may well and truly be honoured with the
much abused name of patriot.

This is not the place to enter minutely upon the details of this
great incident in our history, or of its progress and consequences.
Large bodies of the best citizens of the most civilized nation which
history records are little likely to have much political wisdom; a na-
tional emergency is easily comprehended; long grievances and sore
oppression require little exposition; but an army, even of patriots, is
a bad council of state. The sense of power — the conviction of having
done good — the consciousness of patriotic aims — imparted to forty
thousand armed men an impression of political importance. They
soon reached the limit which separates influence from armed dictation ;
their influence, it is to be admitted, was, even from the first, mainly due
to their attitude of force; but this, for a time, was a tacit impression,
and supported with the utmost seeming of undisciplined forbearance ;
they presently assumed a tone of conscious importance ; they raised

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 119

their demands, and spoke as men who could not be well denied. They
also outlasted the constitutional period of their existence, and became
an object of apprehension to their best friends, and of justifiable
suspicion to the government.

But they are here only noticed as the sign and development of a
growing spirit of resistance to a pressure inconsistent with the actual
condition of the country, and with that sense of independence mainly
caught from England, and already transfused among the educated and
commercial classes ; though the contagion of their example, of the lan-
guage they used, and of the bold attitude they assumed, vastly accelerat-
ed the gathering spirit of the time. A large section of the house of
commons was composed of their officers — their leaders were distin-
guished for their respectability and influence among the lords. They
were thus sanctioned, and, at the same time, with difficulty, and im-
perfectly restrained. The temperate firmness of Charlemont, the dex-
terity of administration, the liberal and fair concessions then made
to Ireland, and their own oversights, gradually brought them to a
fortunate end ; but the effect remained. The opposition in parliament,
as well as the constituency by which it was maintained, had greatly
grown in numbers, concert, and power. Other influences gradually
were poured into the mass of intractable elements which must accom-
pany such a state of things — the spirit of resistance cannot be con-
fined to the good and wise. Disaffected feelings and revolutionary
tenets began to breathe throughout Ireland, as in England, and
throughout Europe. Many incidents and events, here necessarily omit-
ted, occurred, to alarm the apprehensions of the British cabinet. One,
comparatively trifling, has been supposed to have had a critical and
determining effect. This was the regency question, in 1789> on which
occasion the Irish parliament took a high and irrespective course,
which is thought afterwards to have mainly operated on the Pitt ad-
ministration in the introduction of the union. The political incidents
which followed this event, may be regarded as appurtenant to the his-
tory of the United Kingdom. A general statement of its most pro-
minent social and moral consequences, must presently obtain a place
in these preliminary reflections.

Constitutional changes in England. — Looking back to the elementary
conditions stated in the commencement of this introduction, and look-
ing on revolutions as great social convulsions which either abate cer-
tain barriers to human progress, or restore, from age to age, the
balance between the growth and the due control, the enlarging and
the coercive powers of a state, the proposition will be very clearly
understood, — that the permanency of any system of government, in a
highly improving country, must depend on the concurrent provision
for change, which is to be found in its legal and constitutional polity.
It is evident that, were it possible for a just system of government to
throw out new provisions, and to throw off old ones so as to secure a
precise adaptation concurrent with the entire alteration effected by
time upon a nation, there would be far less occasion for the great
revolutions which are the main events of history.

The constitution of England was no sudden growth of human in-
vention, constructed by that shallow ingenuity which conjures up from

120 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

the floating confusion of present events, systems winch the unan-
ticipated future is to sweep away in the torrent of change. It was
the slow growth from the accumulated sagacity of ages which, in
England, alone, perhaps, was enabled to assert its free action upon the
course of political progress. The "wisdom of our ancestors" is an
old phrase which the visionary speculation of the last generation has
sneered out of our language: the sober, grave, and imposing fanaticism
of theory, looks with a sense of delusive superiority upon the slow and
cautious judgment which is content to follow the course of time, to
build upon the foundations of the past, and to lay down its lines within
the compass of its real experience. In this we can see the same spirit
and the same results as may be traced in all the departments of human
knowledge — speculation after speculation blowing up its sparkling and
evanescent bubbles along the mighty stream — while systems of uncon-
jectured reality are growing together, the result of innumerable inci-
dents, and workings, and intellects, all apparently tending and striving
different ways. The British constitution can be traced in the History
of England from remote reigns, in the well-combined, well-balanced,
and, fortunately timed strivings and collisions of political elements
in a moral and intellectual medium which would seem to have been
tempered by Providence for the purpose of bringing forth and nur-
turing the growth of liberty. The same steady, resolute, and cool
nature that characterized the disciplined heroism of the field of
Waterloo, is even singularly conspicuous along the whole line of
events, from the field of Runnemede to the crowning era of the Bill of
Rights. Not by the ascendancy of that popular dictation which has
latterly been asserted in random speeches, but by that transfusion of a
popular sentiment of justice and liberty which is the essential spirit of
the British character, however modified by local and accidental influ-
ences, or by the universal tendencies of human nature. The people
of England has not been merely represented in the house of commons,
it has always existed within the walls of parliament; and the spirit by
which it is cemented and animated transfuses a cordial warmth even
upon the throne. But we overshoot our purpose. The peculiar prin-
ciple which we had here designed simply to exemplify is, indeed, best
to be understood by contemplating the popular character of all our
institutions.

Among the causes which have neutralized the disorganizing influ-
ence of revolution in England, is mainly to be reckoned the elasticity
of its constitution. When nicely analyzed, every main portion of it
will appear to contain, in itself, some provision for the uniform and
regular advances of the general condition of the people. The nearly
unprecedented rapidity of these advances has, indeed, been such as to
render unusually evident some of the principles of this adaptation.
We cannot enter upon them here ; they cannot be discussed without
some digression from our main purpose ; they may, however, be briefly
exemplified in the dormant efficacy of a considerable portion of the
executive power of the state, — much of which will, on examination,
be observed to be contingently provisional; and, hence, to be depen-
dent for its activity on the necessity for which it is provided. The
mere consideration that nearly the entire of our legal processes

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 121

must take their beginning, not from the despotic discretion of the
state, but from private will, may enable the reader to follow out the
principle to a great extent. Thus it is, that the law rules, and rules
in unison with the exigencies of the time. Thus, laws are wisely
measured ; and thus they die away by processes merely constitutional.
In stating this example — for it is but one of many similar considera-
tions— it is necessary to add, that such principles are too essential not
to be in different degrees universal. The principles of law are the prin-
ciples of society, and must be found variously combined and modified
in all its forms. Nor is it necessary .to suppose them understood by
either the makers or the dispensers of law — the contrary is, indeed, a
fact too notorious. The adaptation of these principles to the wants
of mankind is suggested by visible exigencies, and is, for the most
part, but partial and imperfect. So far as human councils are con-
cerned, the world is governed with little wisdom. It would be a
curious, but a nice question, to show the course of causes and effects
by which — in proportion as the progress of the commerce and the arts
of life is peaceful and prosperous — the adaptation of constitutional
principles tends more and more to the most whole and perfect develop-
ment. But these are, perhaps, hazardous generalities.

It is a consequence of the peculiar condition thus described, that
•we cannot in the summary manner which some of our readers may
expect, state the more nice and gradual steps of the changes which the
same public events have effected in England. In Ireland, and to a great
extent in other nations, the main transitions have been summarily pro-
duced by the immediate operation of some visible coercion. In Eng-
land they have grown as from the powers of nature ; and those leading
events which appear in other countries in the form of causes, as plainly
appear there as effects. In other countries, the history of these con-
stitutional changes is to be written in that of their main revolutionary
struggles. In England mighty struggles have come and rolled away
like those tempests which rock our walls and terrify the night, and in the
morning are past, leaving no trace on the calm and cheerful prospect.

The political history of England, when closely analyzed, is the
history of her factions, parties, and administrations, — a vast, diversified,
and unexhausted field, rich in all the possible examples of human
nature, whether in its aggregate or individual workings.

We shall next state at greater length than would be quite conveni-
ent in the course of any of the succeeding memoirs, our view of some
great party changes which were to have a momentous influence in the
events of our own time, though they are, in principle, to be traced as
the growth of that interval which is to be comprised in this immediate
division of our work.

General party changes. — In some one of the memoirs, in the pre-
vious division of this work, we offered some explanation of the remarkable
change of position and opinions, which many writers have noticed, as
having taken place in the two main parties commonly known as whig
and tory. We there endeavoured to explain how, by the natural pro-
gress of opinions subject to the influence of events, these two great
parties gradually have changed ground without any real change of
principle or character. The fleeting succession of atoms of which

122 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

parties are composed would, in the natural cycles of action and reac-
tion, have replaced each other with affections and opinions which revolve
in no very wide circle; like the movements of the solar system, their
retrogressions and stations are but apparent, and each has, in fact,
been moving onward in the course of nature. We have next to notice
the far more important influences which have remarkably modified and
complicated this simple movement. Our problem of moral forces and
agencies is affected by perturbations far less simple than those of the
physical world. It is generally known that the revolution of France was
accompanied by a vast storm of opinions and theories, such as might
well be expected to arise from human speculation in a wild attempt to
usurp the functions of time and human nature, and to break up and
reorganize the social state. The restraints of society cannot be
thoroughly unloosed without first throwing aside the moral and spiri-
tual checks of religion. Philosophy, in its madness, invested itself
with an imaginary omniscience, and, as a natural consequence, brought
forth atheism in the most monstrous forms, but yet, speciously dressed
up in all the varied attractions which licentiousness possesses for the
inferior classes of mankind, or which theories, systems, and sentiments,
ever have for the heated and visionary; it is also well known how
these theories were diffused among the surrounding nations ; how
they were caught up by artful agitators to inflame the populace, and
by turbulent fanatics with the mad enthusiasm of opinion — how also
the spread of disaffection and infidelity, thus caused throughout the
nations, was seized upon by persons of a far different stamp, the keen
and specious infidels of the school of Hume, Gibbon, and Voltaire, as
weapons of political warfare. And more tremendously effective
weapons were never forged in the cavern of discord. The ravings of
blasphemy and sedition, and the wild hallucinations of a most baseless
and unsubstantial philosophy soon passed away, as such follies and
dreams must pass from a country like England. But the subtle mis-
chief has its root in human nature ; and infidelity, the inborn taint, be-
came developed, diffused, and vitally interwoven with radicalism.

For the quick spread and dissemination of this contagion none of
the great parties was to be blamed. It spread among the vulgar, and
was scattered by the basest tongues and pens. But the effect which
it produced fell in well with the policy of the whigs: a virtuous and,
in the main, not unwise policy, till it became thus almost unconsciously
affected with this element of division and disease. The writings of
this party now became plainly tinged with an infidel tone, and all the
resources of the press, reviews, pamphlets, and even public institu-
tions, were broadly stamped with its character. The cautious and
statesmanlike speech could be traced to its purpose by the more broad
and daring statement of the periodical essay. The legislative policy,
maintained by wise and not unjust arguments, could be referred with-
out much difficulty to the known private views of the proposer. The
whigs had ever been ready on all occasions to join in every attack upon
the church, but their motives had formerly been referrible to their
general tenets of religion. Now, however, there began to pervade all
such attacks a tone of a very different kind — a language which contained
the clearest implication of the untruth of all religion. Arguments in

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 123

behalf of toleration, and liberty of conscience, were so selected, and
so expressed, as to make these important blessings of freedom depend
on the principle, that all religions were equally true or false, and that
the legislator should in no way be actuated by any sense of religious
obligation.

But our business here with this unfortunate change is simply to
point out its remarkable effect on the state of parties. An influence
of a high order was thus infused into the mass of party strivings. The
sense of religion, not confined to party, became thus a decomposing
element in the combination of the liberalist parties. The anti-reli-
gious movement had become too perceptibly defined to be mistaken,
and conscience could not any longer continue secure in connivance.

Concurrently with the influential cause thus stated, there were others
far more on the surface, which operated to a considerable extent.
There was that indefinite working of opinion attendant on every great
public question, by which, in the course of time, a balance between
contending arguments is produced in numerous minds. A greater
number still were maintained in a middle position, by a sense of inte-
rests, while their connexions or religious views might have weighed
in the opposite scale.* Many whigs began to perceive the interminable
prospect of an ascending series of demands on the side of the extreme
party at their back, while numerous tories, emancipated gradually from
the conventional prejudices of an old party, became anxious to arrest
encroachment and complaint, on fair grounds of constitutional equality.

Among the whole of this large and variously affected cloud of per-
suasions, a gradual sense began to arise of the great truth of a
broad and comprehensive movement, wholly independent of the objects
or interests of classes. It began to be felt that many ancient strong-
holds were dissolving, and that time was fast shifting the great ques-
tions of the last century. It began to be seen, by those who could
see, that interests once small and separate had been enlarged — that the
most insignificant party connected with the movement was the part of
a mighty and irresistible whole, that could no more be turned back
than the tide. Some few recollected that there was a higher over-
ruling power, and that right and truth must prevail.

A new party sprung up — mainly, we believe, from the ranks of the
whigs, and grew up by slow degrees. This new party existed without a
name, or a principle of concentration, simply in its materials — partly lin-
geringamong the whigs, and partly seceding to the tories, and spreading
on every side, unforeseen and silent, while it appropriated the common
sense of the nation. It was, indeed, rather a constituent portion of the
public mind than a party; but we use this term for conciseness. Ta
make the notion familiar, most persons will recollect the common
boast of being called a " tory among the whigs, and a whig among
the tories" — persons who were zealous for catholic emancipation and

* It would not, consistently with our sketching method, be easy to give exam-
ples. On the subject of interested motives, there are some highly curious and in-
structive. Many protestant country gentlemen evinced a very earnest desire to
rid themselves of tithes, until it began to appear that the same arguments which
were advanced against the tithes, soon became as efficacious and as convincing
when objected to rents.

124 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

fierce against radical reform. Thus, the elements of a great future
party continued to gather numbers and force, unmarked by any name,
and, for a long time quite unrecognised by those who were active in
the conflicts of party — numbers of them being attached to either, and
numbers floating between, without influence, or recognised leaders,
or combining principles; and, if at all active in the politics of the
time, rather governed by the common movements and leaders, or by
the main connexions of the political section to which they might hap-
pen to be attached. But when there thus exists a strong infusion of
feelings and convictions, adapted in their nature to influence public
bodies, and substantially founded in reason and truth, however insig-
nificant they may seem to the crowd who move but at their leaders'
beck, or by the guidance of party maxims and prejudices — they will
gradually combine with public feeling, and alter the direction of every
party. And thus it was that a great middle party has grown up be-
tween the two great opposites, absorbing slowly the better portions of
both, and, at a future period, to take the place of both, for the purpose
of governing and accomplishing the great movement of the following
period — when they were to be seen, as it were, standing out from the
ranks of whig and tory, to repress, on one hand, the fanaticism of
pure liberalism, that would dissolve the social state; and, on the
other, to constrain the fierce prejudices that would repress the tide
of time, and bind the future to the limits of ancient darkness. But
we are passing our bounds ; our present business is with the early
commencements and influences, of which these are among the many
consequences.

Religions. — Among the moving causes adverted to in the forego-
ing section, none exerted the efficacious power of religion. We do
not here mean, however, the direct contentions of hostile sects or
churches — though these had, unquestionably, their share in aggravat-
ing the general effects, and, to a great extent, served to furnish the
occasion and pretext for the spirit of infidelity which characterized
the whole movement of the age, and marked with a family likeness its
origin in the French revolution.

The spread of infidel principle cast a strong influence over the
Church of England. It was soon felt, or imagined to be necessary, by
its teachers, to lower the tone of the pulpit to the rationalizing spirit
of the age. The pure and plainly-asserted doctrines of the New Tes-
tament, of the Articles, Liturgy, and Homilies, were filtered down in
a mere system of prudential ethics : — a process the more easy, as other
previous influences had long, in a lesser degree, had similar tenden-
cies. To those who would thoroughly comprehend the extreme faci-
lity of the transition here spoken of, a few observations may be paren-
thetically made. We shall be as concise as possible.

If a system were to be devised to remedy the ills of life, to correct
the vices of individuals, and the imperfections of society, it would be
impossible to conceive so consummate a system of antagonistic influences
and provisions as the entire complex of doctrines and morals contained
in the whole comprehension of Christianity, as it is plainly and simply
presented by its Author and first teachers. But for this very reason,
that it was, in fact, devised as a remedial system, and, consequently,

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 125

one of thorough opposition to the predominating1 tendencies of human
nature — it seems to be a most obvious inference, that there should be
in the bosom of society a perpetual struggle against it. Nor is it dif-
ficult to perceive that there must be a perpetual current of tendencies,
never long — if at any time — interrupted, to lower its tone and to fine
away its requisitions. And such will ever be found a well indicated fact.
When it becomes less observable in the best framed states of society,
it will be still traceable in the conduct and conversation of individuals
—at one time deriving a spurious sanction from opposition to the work-
ings of fanaticism; at another, from that shallow and flippant wisdom
•which is best described as " foolishness with God." Sometimes soften-
ing down one tenet and sometimes another, but always in a spirit of
adaptation to the wisdom of the world ; but, most of all, adopting that
peculiar compromise which could not have a moment's existence in
any other concern — the formal admission, and practical suppression of
the acknowledged truth. Such was the actual conduct of the Church
of England during the time to which this introduction belongs. On
the inconsistency no remarks need be made — we are concerned in a
great effect. The gospel, treated as if it were a mere legal fiction,
invented for the purposes of state, obtained on the public mind pre-
cisely the place and practical authority of such a fiction. To deny it
was indecorous — to attend to its forms, decent — to maintain its
peculiar and characteristic doctrines, had some contemptuous name.
Preachers delivered dissertations borrowed from Epictetus or Tully —
the pulpit re-echoed of Academus and the grove, the beauty of virtue,
and the prudence of temperance and honesty, and truth was qualified
with the language of natural religion (as it is called), and the whole
variegated mass concluded with a formal allusion to the gospel, wisely
tempered to give no offence to the most fastidious nerves. But we
come back to our text.

From a condition of society in which infidel professions largely
blended with a state of religion virtually nothing different — not only
arose the singular and monstrous phenomenon of a policy, which with,
one and the same breath acknowledged the church and the gospel, and
asserted, in direct contradiction to it, the heathen maxim, that all
religions and all churches were the same, and that religious truth was
a matter of indifference ; that the duties of public men released them,
pro tempore, from all allegiance to God; that though they should be
Christians on Sunday, and in church, they might be infidel in council,
and in the business of the office or senate. But religion lost its hold —
the church languished, lowered its sacred calling, and became degraded
in the eye of the community. Vast numbers seceded in search of spirit-
ual light, and the language of the Scriptures was to be only heard by
departing from the church which has made the most complete and
comprehensive provisions for the diffusion of their purest light. Such
was the state of religion in England — the effect, and, by reaction, the
cause, of the diffusion of revolutionary tenets.*

* This is true in two very important senses — on neither of which can we now
afford to be expansive. It is, in the first place, evident that, in a constitution in-
volving Christianity as an elementary principle, infidel doctrines must be, in the
most direct sense, revolutionary. But in a sense less immediate, it is also appa-

126 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

It was from Ireland that an important, and, we trust, most influen-
tial reform, was to arise. The insula sanctorum was once again to
take its place as a luminary of the west; and a race of Christian
teachers was to arise and restore her spiritual character to the Church
of England. Of this the results are now acknowledged on every
side — a new generation have grown up in the fear and love of
God, and the light which has diffused itself through every corner
of the land, is at length spreading with a rapid progress through
England. Its history, however, in this stage, belongs to the present
time; and we shall hereafter trace it, with minute detail, in future
memoirs of some of those illustrious men who were, under God's bles-
sing, the worthy instruments of a holy cause, and have gone to rest
from their labours. We shall also have to trace the steps by which
toleration, little consistent with fanaticism, on the one hand — or with
rigid formalism, the parent of prejudices, on the other, has at last
grown out of the spirit of genuine Christianity, which, while it is least
of all indifferent about the truth, is also least desirous to be sustained
by any species of human tyranny.

Literature, Arts, fyc. — Were we engaged in a treatise of an ele-
mentary or purely scientific nature, on civilization and the develop-
ment of those causes by which society has advanced from the earliest
times to the present, we should have commenced with those considera-
tions with which, following the common order of historical writings,
we are now to conclude. Though in the early origin of social order,
it is easy to perceive that the first element is to be sought in the
history of religion and law — which must have been identical in their
source and primary development — and though commerce offers the
next efficient agency in the advancement of social institutions, yet,
when we take a starting-point within the scope of modern history, and
endeavour to trace the action of ulterior causes, in expanding and giv-
ing diffusiveness and effect to the more finished structure of modern civi-
lization, there can be little doubt that the moral and intellectual forces
acting on society, must precede the agency of merely political or merely
commercial considerations, imbodying in themselves all that still con-
tinues to be efficient of prior agencies and social causes.

In the earlier states of civilized society, literature cannot be consi-
dered as operating to any considerable extent. It is mainly confined
to a narrow, and that not effective, class of persons. The first teach-
ers among the heathen nations — the grammarians and philosophers —
were as scattered and separated lights, which shed their pale and in-
effective rays in feeble circles — the porch, the academy, or the grove
— and glimmered through the surrounding darkness on a few chosen
heads. That their teaching produced some influence on their own
times, we do not mean to question: it was not that precisely of which
we speak; their speculations, so far as they reached, refined and po-
lished the educated, — but they were not knowledge; they had little
foundation in reality, and led to nothing. It is also to be admitted,
that the philosophy of the ancients had an enormous effect on the early

rent that the mere antipathy to so influential an element of civil power and moral
influence as a national religion, should have the effect of exciting a powerful senti-
ment of antipathy to a state of things involving such a power.

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 127

ages of modern Europe ; but it was still not what we contend for, but
the opposite — a retarding power. The religion and the philosophy of
the ancients, constituting, as they did, the learning of barbarous ages,
corrupted religion, and retarded the advance of reason, — the two great
primary elements of improvement.

On the continental nations of modern Europe, these adverse influ-
ences operated to their full extent, and in their least mitigated form,
until the Reformation first began to break the bonds of spiritual des-
potism. In England it was otherwise. The sturdy national spirit and
fortunate isolation of the land-queen, had never, in the darkest period,
wholly submitted to the moral and intellectual prostration of Europe.
Whatever instituted forms of despotism could effect, there were ten-
dencies generated, and a spirit fostered, which, under the influence of
events, and the operation of external causes, placed England foremost
in the moral and intellectual, as well as in the political progress of
Europe, — the real field on which the great battle of civil and reli-
gious, as well as religious and philosophical liberty, was contested and
carried to its conclusion. The elements to which these great bles-
sings are to be traced can be found in every chapter of English his-
tory alone, in some pure and native form. Of this, so far as we are
here concerned, the best evidences are to be found in the vigorous and
healthful tone which, from an early period, will be easily traced in our
literature, compared with that of France and Germany, our main com-
petitors in progress.

The wonderful genius of Italy, shooting in every direction in bright
and palmy grace and fertility, was forcibly suppressed and kept down
by the despotism of an irresistible power; and minds which might have
changed the face of Europe, were quenched in dungeons, and fettered
by edicts. Copernicus, Kepler, and Galileo, awakened lights which
were to burn in the hands of Newton. Ariosto and Tasso, the bards
of ancient Italy, left their spirit to Milton. Shakspeare was the native
spirit of the land, — not less manifested in his art, or in the force of his
genius, than in his very materials — the rough and racy variety of humours
and characters, nowhere to be found but in the people from which his
moral colouring and features are drawn ; so much so, indeed, that to
those who love to speculate upon the national history of change and
revolution, we would recommend the study of this immortal poet and
his contemporaries, compared with those of other civilized nations in the
same period. From the time of Shakspeare, (to go no further back,)
it is easy to trace in the British poets and moral writers of each suc-
ceeding generation, a regular and steady march of mind, fully adequate
to explain the leading character of our political progress, and without
which the explanations of writers on the subject are incomplete. The
clash of sects and factions, of orders and civil powers — so well de-
scribed, and traced by some modern political writers to their ultimate
results — are but secondary to the great moving regulations and gra-
dually stabilitating power to be discerned in the successive course of
our literature. Those poems, and those moral essays, and that gene-
ral tone of thought, which has been criticised mainly with exclusive
reference to literature, is the striking, visible, and, indeed, only
indication that is to be seen of the great moving element of all our

128 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

progressive changes. In England alone can be seen the gradual de-
velopment of an orderly and genuine humanity. We have used the
word in the sense in which it has been used by M. Guizot, in his elo-
quent and truly philosophical lectures on civilization. The reader of
that excellent work will perceive, that in this we have presumed to
controvert his preference, in this respect, in favour of his own country.
While he makes admissions in favour of the legal and constitutional
pre-eminence of England, he assigns to France a pre-eminence which,
we must say, is not quite consistent with the rest of his theory: we
must, however, state, that our objection is not so much to his facts, as
to the estimate which he seems to have formed of them. His language
is the following: — " A different development from that of social life has
been brilliantly manifested by them (the French) — the development of
the individual and mental existence — the development of man himself —
of his faculties, sentiments, and ideas," £c. We do not continue M.
Guizot's splendid description, because we do not mean to controvert its
direct purport. The brilliant development of the individual tendencies
towards letters, sciences, and arts' — which M. Guizot, we think, errone-
ously considers as the "progress of humanity" — we are inclined to
suspect, that on a rigid and scientific analysis, for which we have nei-
ther space nor time, it would be discovered to be a serious error, which
thus divorces "progress of society" from the "progress of humanity."
We can here, in opposition, only offer the statement by which we have
introduced this stricture. We consider the progress of humanity far
more evidenced in the moral elements of minds like those of Johnson,
Edmund Burke, Hannah More, Maria Edgeworth, Scott, and his imme-
diate circle, than in the visionary brilliancy and the keen-edged plea-
santry of the philosopher and wit of the anti-revolutionary schools in
France. The difference is just that between the perfection of the higher
and the vivacity of certain inferior faculties. The development of the
British mind was pre-eminently moral, in the better or colloquial sense
of the word: the cultivation of truth, justice, and the domestic affec-
tions, on the one true and (almost) exclusively British foundation — that
of a pure and unadulterated Christianity. The main distinction in
favour of France is one highly calculated to mislead a Frenchman,
even though a philosopher of a very high order. The progress of
manners is the eminent distinction of France — apparent humanity.
It would not, indeed — but that we are reluctant to digress so far — be
very difficult to prove that a high-wrought system of manners is more
nearly connected with the defects, than with the perfections of human-
ity. It could be proved from obvious moral considerations, and it could
be exemplified in the whole social history of civilized nations. For the
first of these considerations, we should find it easy to trace out the imme-
diate connexion between the moral defects of social intercourse, and
those etiquettes, forms, and small conventions, which are essential for
their counteraction. For the second we should have, in confirmation,
to show, that as we recede from the present day, the manners of our
ancestors will be found more complex, elaborate, and highly wrought,
and also to hold a more important place in the preservation and go-
vernment of social intercourse. The celebrated anecdote of king Louis
and the earl of Stair will occur to many of our readers, and is no bad

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 129

illustration of the difference which exists between the manners which
arise out of high moral cultivation, and those which supply the want.
There have been states of society in which every law of social order
would have been wholly disregarded, but for the safety-valves of eti-
quette— the humanity which lay within the province of the dancing-
masters and masters of ceremonies, and all the little barriers of punc-
tilio. For such examples we should, of course, travel back some gene-
rations; but our immediate application requires us only to add, that a
lively people, superfluously endowed with animal vivacity, must, even
by nature, and therefore at all times, stand to a greater extent in need
of a conventional system of the minor moralities — the refinements of
flattery — the small niceties of sentiment which supply the place of the
feelings they seem to express.

There is, it is true, another set of facts, from which M. Guizot's repre-
sentation is more professedly derived; we mean the singular diffusion of
literature among the French people. In France, every man is un
artiste, " wit, poet, statesman, fiddler and buffoon.'' Of this multifa-
rious mediocrity, much talent must needs be brought forth; there
must be also a vast incentive to individual efforts, where every one
feels that the eyes and ears of all France are upon him. But we
most directly and uncompromisingly deny the truth of the implied
comparison in M. Guizot's language, which assigns any superiority
to any department of French literature over that of England;
to which, in every department, and with the most even and un-
interrupted uniformity, a vast superiority must be assigned in every
intellectual attribute of the higher order, and in every successive
period. The glory of French literature is the consummation of style,
• — a distinction to be traced to the same causes as that which has
rendered them the most agreeable and graceful people on earth. M.
Guizot could not fail to be complimentary to France: but the candour
which distinguishes his understanding will not be deliberately unjust
to the nation to which France must look for the first and brightest
pages of every branch of her literature — her distinguished mathema-
tics— her moral and metaphysical science — her poetry and fiction, now
only in their infancy. But this point will derive farther illustration
from the observations which we shall presently have to offer upon the
progress of literature; we must therefore break off from a digression
into which we have been tempted. It is not in these things that the true
development of humanity consists; but in the unencumbered and clear
enlargement of the inseparable elements of the reason and affections.
It is in the rectification of these that the higher attributes of humanity
are to be sought. A sound-minded and intelligent British curate has
more true wisdom, and a clearer insight into the nature and destinies
of man, the objects and happiness of life, and the ends and prospects
of society, than Voltaire, Jean Jacques, and the whole concentrated
intellect of the Encyclopedic. The mind of Burke would well out-
weigh the philosophy of the French revolution. It is in England that
the history of the mind and destinies of man must be traced, from the
Reformation to the present moment. There is a necessary and insepa-
rable connexion between religion and virtue — between virtue and sound
reason — and between both of these and all social progress. They are

VOL. v. i

130 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

elements which cannot be disjoined, and in no place can these be so
reasonably sought as in the bosom of that nation which has been so
long the refuge of the vital and purifying element of the gospel.

Among the most evident and universally intelligible evidences of
the unwarped, undistempered, and true growth of the mind of the Eng-
lish nation, (and in this we include the whole aristocracy, gentry, and
educated classes in the three kingdoms,) may be adduced both the po-
sitive indications of the pure, sound, and Christian system of morals
which pervade all our writers of every class — moralists, poets, meta-
physical writers ; so that, even among our infidel writers, some of their
power is derived from the adoption of the gospel ethics, and the nega-
tive indication. consisting in the absence of the unprincipled and vague
system of philosophy and morals, which has so abounded in the conti-
nental schools. The secret of our constitutional stability, and of our
comparatively unimpeded progress, may be found in the striking truth,
that the ethics of the New Testament have been so diffused into the
British mind, as unconsciously to govern and characterize the entire
tissue of life and reason. In all places, and under the most cor-
rupted forms, something of divine truth will be found in those who
profess to teach the Christian religion. A sublime moral, at least,
may be found in Massillon, Bourdaloue, &e. ; but it is not to our
preachers and churchmen that we refer, but to the entire tone and
spirit of our profane literature, taken altogether as a body of
opinion and thought. Throughout the tissue, truth, justice, and rec-
tified affections, appear in the simplest form, unencumbered by theories
and the uncertainty of speculation — rather deriving influence from, than
pretending to discover that body of sentiment and opinion which has
long been the common sentiment of the British islands. And thus it
is that the literature of England — the result of its religion — has been
a main element in the development of the most advanced state of huma-
nity yet developed. To trace the operation of the spiritual principle
in the actual condition of society, is perhaps impossible — certainly not
within our present compass. On the mass it is always a latent, and
not immediate operation. The " broad way and the green " can, in
no state of human society, present more than its reflected light ; but
in this lies the agency in which we are here concerned. It is not the
gospel, as the hope of the follower of Christ that we speak of, but its
secondary influences. It supplies the standard of virtue ; it affords
high examples and unerring criterions, not otherwise known or to be
known ; it largely governs habits through the medium of early disci-
pline; it keeps alive (however vaguely) hopes, fears, and conscientious
motives and scruples, almost universally; and it scatters in every quar-
ter bright and influential patterns of Christian life. But all this is not
enough for the purpose of our statement ; as such, and looking to no fur-
ther end, the corruption of humanity is too overpowering to the ob-
servation, to admit of the satisfactory application of such a view as test
or comparison. Sweeping evasions are too easy. Human conduct is
everywhere characterized by similar infirmities, beset by similar
temptations, and concealed by the same disguises. The human heart,
"deceitful above all things," moves everywhere in its cloud of pre-
tences, and there is no human aim that cannot be accommodated with

TO THK FIFTH PERIOD. 131

the specious garb of some nominal virtue. It is the theory of
virtue that -we have here to look to; for in this alone is to be
found the average amount and limits of attainment. Now, it is to
the whole mass of the literature of a country that such a test should
be applied. Ethical works only contain the fruits of individual specu-
lation ; but literature is, for the most part, shaped to the taste of the
nation, and speaks best what that taste is. Such is the point of com-
parison to which we would direct the reader's notice, and such also is
the principle of its application. Even the moral obscuration attendant
on the troubled interval between Charles I. and the Revolution, brought
forth the mind of Milton, in whose intellectual character, when due
deductions are made for pure genius, may be discerned the pure and
severe spiritual and moral elevation which lay involved within those
turbid elements. The writers of queen Anne's time, various as are
their critical merits, present a striking moral front. Temple, Steele,
and Addison, the most popular of essayists, ascertain both the moral ten-
dencies of the time, and the essential spirit from which it proceeded. The
torch was delivered to Johnson, and to the wits and orators of his day —
the entrance of our present division — all writers of one ethical school;
for by no other could they have spoken the mind of the British people.
Of these men, some were Christian by character and profession — all by
taste. Such is the first sense in which we consider it essential to re-
gard our literature, in viewing it as a criterion of the true element of
progress in England. Christian, in the general sense which we have
endeavoured to explain, it is, at the same time, one of the great gene-
ral indications of progress and change.

Before we enter on a more general view of the same class of indi-
cations, we must guard against being supposed to pay too exclusive a
regard to those which are merely intellectual, We assent at once to
the proposition, that a nation may arrive at a very high degree of
constitutional strength — of wealth and foreign preponderance, without
a proportional advance in literature. There should be some important
deductions to make, but we shall not enter on the question; it has
no immediate application. In England, all the departments of liter-
ature rose by a uniform progress to their very highest state; and we
proceed here on the principle that the indication thus afforded is the
least liable to deception.

In the opening of our period, the literature of England was as a
blaze of light. Though considerably below the point (perhaps the
maximum) which it attained in the commencement of the present cen-
tury, it had reached a height unprecedented in the history of modern
Europe. To understand this according to our true intent, it must,
however, be observed, that we are not speaking of the production of
works of great genius — a consideration not in any way here involved
—but simply of the general condition of literature, as estimated from
its average results. The wide-spread taste — the numerous scholars,
poets, and orators — the rising school of art — then was the triumph
of oratory and of historians unrivalled in modern or ancient nations.
Hume, Gibbon, Robertson, Fox, Pitt, Burke, Pope, Johnson, Gold-
smith— the constellated light of the Turk's Head — itself a splen-
did development from Will's coffee-house. At this period, it may

132 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

•well be doubted whether the capacities of the human intellect had
not reached their highest intellectual point. The estimate by
which such a question could best be decided, would be complicated
with many difficulties, and demand a wide range of comparisons.
The process would be one by which the mere diffusion of know-
ledge, the mere increase of results — with also the vast additions
which have been made to the common stock of human ideas — should
be distinguished from the consideration in question, — the accomplish-
ment of man's intellectual constitution. To a great extent, indeed, these
questions would appear identified so closely as to make the distinction
seem a vain refinement ; but our present scope requires no notice of these
difficulties. The genius of individuals is not to be measured by the
entire intellectual comprehension of the present age ; with the increase
of knowledge the division of labour is improved, and to some extent
it is true, that what the public mind gains, the individual loses in
scope. It may be well doubted whether, in the entire range of the
most eminent, instructed, and refined society of the present moment,
the circle at Sir Joshua Reynolds' table could be reproduced — no one
will, on consideration, say that it could be excelled. The entire time
since his death has not brought forth the intellectual peer of Burke.
The peculiar nerve, promptness, the discursive reach and vigour of
Johnson has no rival. If this estimate, which we are content to
assert — because we do not think it will be denied — be correct, one
further consideration will be enough. If we are to estimate the de-
velopment of humanity by such considerations, no nation has ever yet
risen to the same proud level of attainment. They who would pay so
untenable an honour to France, have either looked very superficially
on the state of that great and splendid people, or they have judged by
a scale of humanity which we do not understand, and cannot here in-
vestigate. Manners, and the smaller moralities of common conversation,
we have conceded; wit, grace, both in conversation and writing, and
all that contributes to smoothen the collisions and refine the common
concourse of the world, from the monarch's court to the polite con-
versation of the stalls and streets, is the undisputed pre-eminence of
la belle nation. These are, to a great extent, the elements of that illu-
sory humanity which has imposed on French statists. But looking
to the actual amount of evidence in favour of their comparative pre-
ference, it will, in the first careful glance, appear, that it must include
a vast mist of false, unregulated, and vague philosophizings on false
data, and on no data, eminently characteristic of undisciplined intellect.
The philosophical invention of the French was profuse and brilliant,
because it was repressed by no caution, and not confined by any regard
to realities; while that of England was the slow but sturdy growth of
successive confirmations — the patient development of experience. The
theories of the revolutionary philosophers — full as they are of strik-
ing eloquence, of clever and just thoughts, and of incidental wisdom,
founded on no true facts, and assuming a wide scope of licentious fal-
lacy— have struck no root in the intellect even of France. With little
exception,* they have passed into oblivion, having contributed as little

* The exception, indeed, is unnecessary; the economists are not to be con-
founded with the political projectors of the revolution.

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 133

to the political wisdom of the succeeding generation, as the crimes and
horrors to which they gave their transient share of impulse, advanced
their prosperity and power. When this discordant crowd, and all
their brilliant frost-work of opinion, system, and mere eloquence, is
reduced to its truth, and to its real share in the advancement of hu-
manity, it will be easy to do critical justice. Nearly the whole of the
great and various foundations of modern science might be also exclud-
ed, for very opposite reasons, from the same estimate. They fall to a
large extent under the class of external results. So far as these re-
marks apply, the consideration is confined to the moral and social ex-
pansion of the public mind; as the precise point for which we have
contended, is not that our national development has been larger or
more brilliant, but more in strict conformity with truth, reality, the
nature of man, and the design of his Maker.

In looking to those external results of human reason — that is to say,
the advancement of the arts and sciences — we do not mean to pursue the
comparison further than to observe that it would terminate equally in
favour of England. To England the history of modern science must
trace its beginnings, and it is in these that the higher elements of
human reason will be mainly traced: they more surely imply patience,
forbearance, comprehension, judgment, and a just election among the
thousand ways of error. The rest are more common and in-
ferior powers. We should be sorry, indeed, to be thought to dispar-
age the illustrious school which has consummated the astronomy of
Newton. But the progress of humanity and the advance of discovery
are not simply convertible terms. There is, to be sure, a connexion,
but it is one not of principles but results ; every incident of the human
state in some way may affect the whole complex of humanity. If any
of our readers should be led to follow out a subject Avhich we must
here drop, there is a suggestion which he will find of some use. The
first error to which the comparison of different departments of intel-
lectual effort is liable, is the confusion of the mere degree of any talent
with its elevation in the scale of excellence. Another — a similar error
would be between the importance of results and the powers by which
they were attained.

The more appropriate consideration of the intellectual and social
advance of England during the period on which we are about to enter,
rejects all such investigations. We could not pass without comment
an authoritative statement, which, to some extent, involves the justice
of our general view of the moral and social character of this period.
The reign of George III. was the development of the moral and in-
tellectual instrumentalities, from which the vast expansion of all the
elements of social progress, which characterize the present genera-
tion, have their source and origin. The full discussion of these would
be desirable, and we should enter diffusely upon the varied branches
of consideration thus distinguishable, were it not that there is nothing
to our purpose that it will not become desirable again to bring under
notice in the course of the ensuing memoirs. And it is for this reason
that we here confine our discussion to the most general considerations
affecting the period. The great events which seem to have given their

134 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

stamp to the age — enormous and vast as their influence has been — have,
perhaps, more than can be easily calculated, been secondary to other far
less perceptible agencies, of which they are in reality the effects. Of
these, as we have endeavoured to show, the best measure is to be
found in the state of literature and the arts, the only certain records of
an age. There was, in the interval of time under our special notice,
a vast and apparently sudden growth of intellectual activity, both in
England and France, though subject to different laws of action, and
working in different directions. As the one was unrestricted, and in its
rude overflow carried away the fixed barriers of human progress, and
led to no direct result; the other advanced under the strictest control
of those elementary and essential social laws, by which alone, in any
known instance, national progress has been attained; and the largest
portion of individual freedom, and popular privilege, which ever yet
have been combined, has been the eventual result. We are to look
for the elements of our moral state, as a people, in the family and
court of George III., and in the still increasing prevalence of our
Christian teaching in the press and pulpit; our rational sense of
constitutional freedom in the long series of our able constitu-
tional judges and lawyers, as well as in the genius of public men,
whose well-known writings have given a tone to political sentiment —
Locke, Somers, Burke, Mackintosh — and the constellation of which
they are the eminent stars. Even our arts and wonderful attainments
in the practical applications of natural philosophy to social ends —
though they appe'ar peculiarly as the offspring of the present — though
we seem to have made a sudden ascent beyond the remotest calcula-
tion«of our fathers — it is yet clearly traceable to the broad foundation
which was their undoubted work. Let us pause to contemplate this
fact; for its consideration is instructive.

In later times, from the commencement of the present century, the
vital fire of social existence, knowledge, having long progressed slowly
and interruptedly through numerous stages of advance and retarda-
tion, appears to have been exhibited to an intensity of light beyond
the conception of our ancestors. The furnace has gained a white
heat — and new and marvellous gleams and irradiations are ascending
on every side, and changing the whole aspect of the social state. Old
times and old thoughts are hourly losing themselves in the blaze.
Either to conjecture the probabilities of discovery, or to set limits to
its advances, would be hazardous and daring; and still more ven-
turous to pretend to trace the vast and illimitable scope of results.
England already concentrates into a city; and, looking to its ten-
dencies, Europe approaches toward the forms of a vast democracy.
We already look as from a lofty eminence on the times distinguished
for illustrious men. But if any one who is competent to the task — and it
does not involve more than a certain general amount of scientific infor-
mation— will follow out to their origin the varied inventions and discov-
eries which have changed the entire condition of the British people —
the steam-boat and the railway, and the wide range of resource for pub-
lic convenience and utility — while he will unhesitatingly confess the yet
unmeasured vastness of their importance and of their effects, he will see

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 135

that they are by no means the result of any commensurate degree of in-
tellectual power: and following on in the same path, he will soon ascer-
tain that they are best described as results of long discovery, expanded
into life by the development of the external form of society itself: not
the genius, but the wealth; not the compass, but the direction of know-
ledge. The point to be observed is this : there must be first attained a
certain state of social expansion, to afford scope for numerous applica-
tions of invention. The demands of luxurious affluence, or of the most
expansive commerce, and the application of that wealth which is their
cause and effect, are the essential conditions for the development of the
refined and expensive improvements of modern skill. The structure of a
large two-masted vessel would be beyond the wants and means of the pas-
toral state, — the costly machinery of the steamer and the railway, the
augmented powers of all the implements of production, demand the
resources and supply the wants of a civilized nation. Until a certain
amount of means and demands had been called into existence, the
experiment which absorbed millions of capital could not be made,
though the conception lay on the surface, an unproductive and
not very profound speculation, to be called ingenious by the informed,
and visionary by all beside. A moment, however, arrives, in which
a certain ascertainable increase of demand becomes visible to the in-
telligent eye of commerce — an enlarged scope for investment calls
forth at once both the money and the contrivance.

It is in the acceptation of these remarks that we refer all the great
distinctions of modern art and improvement to the far more exuberant
and far-reaching genius of previous generations. The day of the
Pitts, Fox, Sheridan, Wilberforce, Johnson, and Burke, in which
there was a mighty fermentation of the human genius, and an illumi-
nation in every direction, shone in its meridian, while great national
prosperity was at the same time calling into existence, and fostering a
large accession of numerical increase to the middle orders, who pro-
perly constitute the people. From such a state of intellectual power,
and such a condition of the people, grew the peculiar splendours and
substantial attainments of our own time, in literature and art, as
well as in the former respects. The demand for the luxuries of
literature, as well as for its more solid acquirements, was largely
increased — lighter publications, as well as more various grades of
excellence, found a fast-increasing market — the periodical, which
was an augmentation of the power of the pamphlet — something
analogous to the power -loom — was adopted, and added the very
lightest species of literature, till then conceived, to the ancient
purposes of popular publication. The public journal, in like man-
ner, expanded both in scope and talent. The growing demand for
political information eventuated in the publication of the debates.
Keener interest and increased impulse were given to these processes by
the revolutionary excitements which we have described in the begin-
ning of this sketch; and the causes now stated, gave, of course, added
power to those political impressions.

The revolutions sustained by literature, considered in itself, were
not less traceable. Style had been completed ; the various methods

13G HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

by which the reason, fancy, and feeling, could be worked upon, had
all been developed with skill: a metaphysical school of great compass
had grown up ; and, though of no value in its distinct results, yet such
as to contribute a powerful addition to the force and resources of hu-
man reason, it increased intellectual expertness, and gave precision to
moral and critical thought and language. A reading public rose into
existence, not contemptibly furnished in any of the ordinary attain-
ments of human cultivation. Of this the consequences were various
and extensive. New and comprehensive experiments in poetry were
made, by the adoption of new styles and new elements; and all the
varied resources of constructive art were happily combined with the
most daring efforts of conception, by the genius of Scott, in a series of
fictions in prose and verse, which have stamped the literary character
of his time, while their success affords the best illustration of our
theory. It demanded a large market and a wide extension of the
reading classes, to pay the £120,000, or more, which was the total pur-
chase of his labour. But these considerations are only here brought
forward to illustrate our sense — they belong to a future statement.

Literature, Arts, fyc., in Ireland. — The state of Ireland, in respect
to its intellectual condition, during the same interval, is not such as
to demand much separate remark. We cannot immediately trace it
into a connexion with the general advance of society, with the same
evidence and simplicity as in our previous observations. Though ana-
lytically viewed, the same elements must always tend to the same re-
sults ; yet it is only when the operation is considered in its extent, and
in some measure disengaged from the action and interruption of other
active social processes, that it can be followed out, without diffusive,
tedious, and minute refinements. Such we are anxious to avoid.

In Ireland, the state of society, with respect to manners, morals,
and education, was such as must be difficult to convey briefly to any
but an Irishman whose memory can recur to a state of things now
nearly, if not wholly, passed away. It was not such as may be sum-
marily referred to any point in the scale of human progress; though,
were such a comparative estimate demanded, we should, upon the whole,
be rather inclined to assign a low degree of civilization. The widely
desolating waste of the great rebellion, may, in a manner, be said to
have swept away the moral and intellectual germination of the pre-
vious period of quiet and progressive advance ; nor was there any in-
terval of steady progress to repair the broken and suppressed processes
of human advance, till the revolution of 1688 came on, introduced by
a sanguinary struggle, and succeeded by the ponderous and spirit-
crushing policy of government, which was the sure and hapless con-
sequence of such a previous succession of events. The population
was scanty and barbarous; nor were the gentry much above them in
the higher and more important respects. Their highest accomplish-
ments were but the refinements of barbarism or of vice. The point
of honour was, generally speaking, their only characteristic and dis-
tinguishing virtue. Their tastes were gambling, drinking, and a
profuse hospitality, crowned and adorned with these prominent quali-
fications; their main pursuits, cattle-farming and field-sports. The

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 137

most absolute potentate in any civilized state had less power than the
country gentleman exercised over his tenantry: these, in many parts of
the country, where the Celtic character chiefly prevailed, looked up
to their lord with a veneration which even much injustice could not
destroy. It was augmented in those cases where the master chanced
to be of the old stock, and of the same church with themselves, but
extended to all cases with the universality of national habit. It
was, however, combined with some moral features, now, in a great
measure, corrected by the effects of subsequent changes. The affec-
tion of the cottar was largely tempered by dissimulation: while his fears,
hopes, and natural sense of his own interest, compelled him to flatter
and crouch to his tyrant, he was not insensible to his degradation,
and still less so to the insults with which kindness itself was but too
often qualified. From this strange and unhappy combination of con-
ditions was tempered a national spirit, which, having been unfairly in-
terpreted without regard to its causes, has grown into a national re-
proach against the race. Much of this reproach must be also quali-
fied by other considerations, of which the chief was the absence of in-
struction and example. The peasant's knowledge of right and wrong
was defective in an extreme degree, and the manners and conduct of
the gentry were such as to throw no light on the surrounding ob-
scurity. The noble sentiments of truth, honesty, and honour, in the
more civilized sense of the term, are not the spontaneous produce of
uncultivated human nature. The state of things, thus summarily
described, was variously modified by a species of intercourse which
subsisted between the peasant and his master, which was much calcu-
lated to counteract those repulsive influences which we have mentioned.
The gentry, and especially the younger sons of their families, entered
largely into the sports of the peasantry, and excited among them feel-
ings of good-will, and often of enthusiastic partisanship, by superior
prowess and dexterity in the field, — the more so that, in the Celtic
districts, the gentry belong to a more robust and muscular race
than the peasantry. It was then an object of no secondary im-
portance in the estimation of a district which lay under the shadow
of a noble house, how far its members could jump or cast the half-
hundred weight; and if any one was endowed with any extraordinary
gift of agility or strength, it was enough to ensure universal reverence.
Such instances were talked of with enthusiasm in the traditions of the
third or fourth generation. The fame of Rory More, one of the
O'Connors of the county of Roscommon, is yet flourishing in his native
county; and, in our younger days, we can recollect the almost Ho-
meric style in which old men, then living in our own immediate dis-
trict of that county, used to speak of the heroic recollections of their
youth, and the degeneracy of the existing time.

The gentry, in like manner, in their own peculiar customs, were
largely associated with a clan-like following of their tenantry and cot-
tars ; and this gave something of a primitive character to the feuds
and animosities which prevailed among the principal families in most
of the counties of Ireland. Of this description were the sanguinary
quarrels between the Brownes and Fitzgeralds of the west, and numer-
ous others whom we could name. The despotic squire, no longer in-

138 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

vested by lawful right with the privileges of a chieftain, to some
extent retained them by influence, and by the tenure of popular pre-
judice, and was tempted to exercise them on a scale too narrow to
come distinctly within the notice of a lax administration, mostly exer-
cised in a spirit of connivance. The exercise and the redress of private
wrong were frequently pursued by measures equally violent and ille-
gal, and it was no uncommon incident to see gentlemen invade each
other's houses at the head of a tumultuary force.

This state of society, more barbarous than the primitive clanship
from which it had degenerated, was also curiously characterized by a
spirit of aristocratic pride, in which even the peasantry participated, after
a peculiar manner, — the lowliest cottar seeming to feel himself exalted
in the house of the great family which his father and grandfather had
followed. The " rale sort " was an emphatic phrase to express the
distinction due to a gentleman of ancient and honourable descent; and
the utmost contempt which the peasant's heart could feel, or tongue
express, was his scorn for the upstart gentility of low degree. This
spirit may, in part, be resolved into the love of grandeur and majesty
which has often been attributed to the Irish, but there is here a more
distinct and intelligible reason, — the entire absence of the commercial
spirit, with its consequences. There was no class of wealthy traders
to offer an independent front against the feeling here described, and
to present a different standard of popular estimation. There was no
degree between the peasant and the aristocratic gentleman, unless
that which was held by the tenure of those low accommodating vices
and meannesses which could secure the confidence and favour of the
lord, or by some small official elevation, of which arrogance and op-
pression were the most important distinctions. Thus arose an im-
pression of dislike and scorn among the people, for all the pretensions
which were unstamped by the sanction of aristocratic birth. An ex-
altation consequent on acquired wealth, referred to this peculiar scale,
was the spurious gentility of the upstart — for there was in the popu-
lar mind no other category to which it could be referred.

Such was the state of the popular spirit which must perhaps be
regarded as indicative of the real internal advance of Ireland, towards
the end of the 1 8th century.

But a country, fastened by many links to the march of another
more advanced, and moving by a different rate of progress, must
necessarily offer many remarkable irregularities. The highest
tone of refinement, generated by the wealth of England, and the
standard of politeness by which its highest classes were regulated, was
infused by numerous channels of communication, into the aristocratic
circles of this country; in which, taking a higher tone from the
national influences heretofore described, they were augmented and set
off by numerous native characteristic peculiarities. With us, the pride
of aristocracy was not counterchecked by the rivalry of independent
industry, learning and genius, or by the useful acquirements and
strong cultivated common sense of a wealthy commercial people, but
towered freely over the surrounding level, and threw out absurdities
and graces of its own.

The first remarkable condition of our Irish intellectual state at that

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 139

time, is in a high degree characteristic of the very peculiar state of
the country. Its knowledge, manners and literature, like its laws
and institutions, were substantially English. The perpetual oscillations
of a lingering revolution of eight centuries — a disease of infancy
kept alive till old age — had circumscribed to a narrow circle the pro-
gress of humanity. The prejudices and animosities of the fifteenth
and sixteenth centuries, loaded the very atmosphere of the eighteenth,
and sequestered the lower ranks of Irish from all other people. The
upper classes were at the same period moving side by side with
England, though perhaps with many disadvantages. They had also
some advantages not so easily explained, in the very extraordinary
prevalence of those peculiar talents, by means of which, intellectual
cultivation imparts a tone to social intercourse. Boundless wit, and
a sparkling and profuse facility of diction; great vivacity of tem-
perament, and facile affections — these were perhaps the indigenous
growth of the land. The long combination of two distinct races,
oppositely characterized, had blended into a happy combination the
prominent qualifications of both ; this too imparted a distinction — they
met in the thorough Irish gentleman.

Within the circle thus marked there was a concentrated effusion
of wit, genius, and cultivated manners. The bar, the parliament, and
the university, were the luminous centres of all that extensive know-
ledge, intellectual power, and refined intercourse, could impart to
society. The genius and the intellectual attainment of that period are
now very much liable to be underrated ; the vast expansion of intellec-
tual cultivation in both countries, is apt to impress a fallacious esti-
mate on our conception of the pretensions of the former generation.
But, as we have already noticed, the individual development is not
enlarged in a concurrent ratio with the progress of society; that
equalizing principle, of which we have said so much, is not restricted
to external circumstances which involve wealth and commercial in-
dustry; it affects the intellectual constitution by a similar law. The
extension of knowledge, like that of art, produces a necessary division
of labour ; every branch of science, and every department of research,
grows by degrees too complex and wide for the grasp of individual
capacity on the duration of human life. And thus an enlarged system
of intellectual labour grows, and, while it employs a large portion of the
public mind, circumscribes individual effort; thus, by an evident pro-
cess, superseding and in consequence diminishing much of the power of
invention and intellectual resource. At the period of which we speak,
it was the ambition of a cultivated mind of the highest order, to have
made the circuit of the entire or chief realms of the whole compass of
human thought ; and in the writings and speeches of the greatest men,
will be found a range of materials and an accumulation of attainments,
to which it would, now, be nearly ridiculous to pretend. Indeed, it is
from a similar application of these considerations that we might explain
the secret of that uniform adaptation between the period and the man,
which has so often been observed. This is a fact which may find
considerable illustration in our history ; for, as we proceed in the fol-
lowing lives, there will be observed a very remarkable conformity in
the genius of our most eminent men, to the national circumstances

140 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

•which gave occasion to their public career. The characteristic
eloquence of the country, may, to some extent, be thus explained —
in the public transactions of the Irish administration, the perfunctory
precision of a more advanced constitutional state did not yet exist to
supersede private effort; the range of business was not so great as to
prohibit the waste of wit and fancy, which adorned and relaxed the
labour of public affairs. These qualifications were perhaps heightened
by the intermixture of some slight tinges of the barbaric freedom of the
hour ; the social circle was not so enlarged and cultivated by refine-
ment as to repress peculiarity. The conventional restrictions of modern
taste did not exist to subdue the brilliant ebullition of generous
natures. A large affusion of inferior cultivation — if we may so speak —
the transition manners of a more popular caste which broke in upon, and
in every quarter blended with, those of one more cultivated and refined,
gave a singular expression of freedom, spirit, and humour, to the com-
pound. There was an atmosphere of spirit, invention, adventure, and
unconstrained fervour, favourable in the highest degree to the growth
of man's individual character. It was a time and a state of things in
•which nature asserted all her rights and all her powers in the forma-
tion of men. To men thus nurtured, political affairs offered a bound-
less supply of stimulus and field of effort. The tone of nationality,
inherent in the Irish people, was additionally promoted by its small
circle of action — even prejudices were maintained on the simple
ground of ancestral and hereditary claim — the ties of kindred were
interwoven with transmitted maxims, antipathies, and prepossessions.
The sympathies of life were quick and vivacious, and he must have
been a dull rhetorician who could not touch them.

To give its utmost fertility to the soil thus overcharged with the ele-
ments of produce, education bore its ample part. The University of
Dublin, standing as it did, alone — the sole resource in Ireland for the
higher branches of learning — performed the united offices of both
English universities. As a school of divinity, classical literature, and
science, not inferior to either ; in the compass of her acquirements she
surpassed both, — evincing the tempered discretion with which she
selected the course of her prescribed studies, so as to combine the
ancient and modern ; preserving the solid and standard writings of
antiquity, without being tainted by obsolete prejudices, or the pedan-
try of erudition; and seizing the real discoveries and improvements of
later times, unobscured by the visionary and ephemeral additions of
theory. In that time, the university was not more distinguished for the
comprehensive adaptation of her system to the state of knowledge and
wants of the age, than for the illustrious men whom she produced, —
the best and surest criterion of her excellence. Of these, many con-
tinued, as fellows, to reside within her walls, and formed that profoundly
intellectual circle among whom Burke, the noblest of her sons, and
the great ornament of the age, was accustomed, during his residence
in Dublin, to retire to look for fit intercourse for his higher powers
and nobler aspirations, when fretted by the small collisions and petty
intrigues of Dublin politics. The general influence, thus produced
among the middle classes, was considerable indeed, and it appears in
the highly cultivated talent, and the still classical recollections of the

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 141

eminent wits and orators; who, though they are certainly not to be
confused with the entire order to which they belonged, yet unquestion-
ably must still be admitted to be just indications of the state of social
cultivation, and as the higher specimens of that state of attainment
which was regarded as the standard of qualification in the social circles
of which they were conspicuous centres.

In the course of some years before the 19th century had far ad-
vanced, the state of literature here described had gradually disappeared.
It is difficult to avoid connecting this circumstance with the Union,
which undoubtedly dissolved many a brilliant circle of the Irish me-
tropolis. But there were other causes equally obvious, though over-
looked in the fury of political contention. The tone of the orator and
of the public writer is caught from the general state of the public mind
— and the entire intellectual cultivation will ever be pitched in unison
to the great main design of all effort. The tone of Grattan, Curran,
and those with whom they are to be generally classed, was academical ;
there was no pervading commercial intelligence to impose the succinct
and formal statements of official despatch; there was no popular mind
to vulgarize or to repress that overcharged display that wins the uncul-
tivated heart. There was a highly wrought and over-cultivated tone,
to which literature contributed its full stores, and rhetoric all its
studied forms. It must be granted, that it was much characterized
by redundance and excess. But in these great men it was excess of
light — oratory in Ireland then sat throned in state, adorned with
" barbaric pearls and gold ;" it was then the garb and ensign of her
power. The name of " Irish eloquence" afterwards became a term of
not quite candid reproach, yet it was seemingly well justified by an
after change of style. The fact demands some notice : in this, too,
the principle of national transition can be traced. When the brilliant
life of the last generation passed away, a vast diffusion of popu-
lar spirit began to be called forth, and at the same time to give a tone
and character to the style of public speaking, by which it was excited.
The parliament was succeeded by the arena of agitation, which from
thenceforth never ceased. While the national prejudices and religious
animosities of the people were worked upon with dexterity, talent, and
eloquence, the very same process was infusing gleams of intelligence
that were at some period to have a far different operation — while the
people were concentrating into a party existence, they began to grow
in numbers, as well as intelligence. We are here to point out thejirst
effect on the taste and talent of Ireland. The change we have been
endeavouring to explain operated disadvantageously on both. That
many public speakers during this time are to be distinguished for elo-
quence, and for nearly all the intellectual powers which it ordinarily
calls into action, will not be considerately denied. But their style had
become such, as with even unusual evidence to show the characterizing
tendency to win the vulgar, at the expense of every principle of good
taste and sound judgment. A few eminent intellects belonging to the
past — or rather to that higher order of intellects, which in all times
tower above the creeping influences of tendency, yet remained to con-
tradict the national reproach. But the populace had become the hearers,
and the moment brought forth its own peculiar style. Rival orators

142 HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION

contended in the artifices of rhetoric, and the ornaments of imagina-
tion; and in their contention, forgot the subject of their discourse:
the highest effort was to overlay the minutest quantum of sense with
the richest patchwork of purple rags. Hours were wasted down in
the elaboration of sentences which astonished the echoes of the crim-
inal courts ; and when published in the papers, were for a time the
theme of general wonder: every youthful Irishman who pretended to
public talent was, more or less, according to his intellectual gauge,
betrayed into the cultivation of his fancy as the great element of pub-
lic life. The same mass of intellect which now supplies the columns
of magazines and journals, with smooth, faded commonplaces in po-
lished verse, then sedulously cultivated a far inferior style of oratory,
which the gall of Junius can best describe, — "the melancholy madness
of poetry, without the inspiration." Such an epidemic must of course
have been on every side limited by the natural intelligence of the
human mind. But the cause to which it has been in a chief measure
attributed, was itself a result of far more permanent and extensive
importance. The popular mind was awakened into intellectual exist-
ence,— a fact of which, the boundless importance has not been appre-
ciated ; because it has been in a great degree concealed, or rather dis-
guised by incidental circumstances. Thus many will say that a
vast mass of prejudice and spurious principle \vas propagated to lead
the popular mind astray, and that the national mind was obscured by
opinions more dark than mere ignorance. This may be granted for
argument at least. But a more considerate attention will perceive
and admit, that in the mean time the faculties were brought into
an enlarged exertion; the logical faculties began to be trained; the
observation roused, and certain general elements of political know-
ledge, taught. This will be the better understood by considering,
that, in the propagation of false conclusions, the main principles used
are, for the most part, the general maxims of right and truth which are
universally fixed in the minds of men. It is a principle which lies
deeply involved under the working of social causes, that error, for
the most part, consists in the perversion and distortion of the most
important elementary truths, and cannot be propagated far without car-
rying in its march the light by which it is to be dissipated. The dark-
ness of the middle ages was maintained, not so much by the influence
of mere error, as by an external power which arrested and bound the
reason : it was not because words supplied the place of principles, but
that the progress of inference from any other grounds was sin or treason.
The advance of truth which makes the man free is yet not old enough
in its progress to be fully understood; and it has not been yet seen that
modern delusions have no rooted existence. Reasonings founded on a
false basis of fact, and at the same time exposed by a train of results,
will not continue to deceive those who have once learned to reason
rightly, and to observe shrewdly. A just consideration of this reflec-
tion will explain, what a practical acquaintance with the Irish people
will not fail to demonstrate, to the dullest observer, who observes rather
with his eyes and ears, than by inveterate notions which pass without
examination — that their spirit is changed, — a change not to be per-
ceived from afar; because the people are yet everywhere under the

TO THE FIFTH PERIOD. 143

dominion of external influences, forms and conventions, from which
the popular crowd can never break, till the force of circumstances set
them free. The empire of delusion — while in a last contest, it seems
to be repairing1 its broken bulwarks, and extending1 anew its demo-
lished outworks — is dissolving silently from within: it is losing its hold
upon opinion, even in its inmost citadel ; and when the dark edifice of
superstition and popular slavery shall have appeared, to those who are
now contemplating its advances with dismay, to have gained once more
its place of pride — the frowning battlements will have become a shadow,
We have chosen thus to express our opinion in types and metaphors,
rather than in more express language, because it refers to a state of
facts which rather falls within the comprehension of the time in which
we live, than of that on which we are about to enter in detail. Yet,
having ventured so far, in suggesting the existence of a state of things
so wholly out of the contemplation of those who commonly discuss
the state of Ireland, we must make a few remarks on the seemingly
improbable oversight thus asserted. It seems to have two causes:
one, on which it is not necessary to dwell — the miserable condition of
darkness, error, arid poverty, which affects the wild population of some
of the mountain and moorland districts of the country; in some of
which the population is purely Celtic, and deeply characterized by all
the seemingly irreclaimable features of that race. These districts form
a seeming ground of exception to the statement which we have made.
A more general fact is this; and, slight as it may seem, it has grown
into a consideration of vast importance; it is the superficial charac-
ter of political investigations in every shape, and on every side. Men
look too much to opinions, and too little to realities: they look into
reports and journals, speeches and histories, for their facts: they rely
on the indications of public meetings, when men do not speak their
mind, and where the passions which appear are but the contagion of
the crowd, — mere physical sympathies: well instructed in physical sta-
tistics, they have no precise knowledge of moral causes. And thus
it is, journal answers journal; speech answers speech; and pamphlet
answers pamphlet; while few turn a heedful glance upon the working
of moral and intellectual principles, the ultimate and irresistible forces
of the social world, — as incessant and surrounding as the unseen in-
fluence by which the tides observe their stated times. The politician,
deeply absorbed in his engrossing game, is to a very considerable
extent involved in misrepresentations; — he sets too much value on ex-
pedients, and on the peculiar machinery which he holds in his grasp,
and has too little reliance on the law of nature, and the power of God.
The same considerations are in a high degree connected with other
facts on which we shall not enter at large. It will be enough to say,
that the peculiar tendencies, affecting the political sentiments of the
Irish peasantry, have not hitherto been identical with the democratic
spirit which has been so much noticed as belonging to other countries.
A growing advance in the condition of the people — in manners and
comforts — has contributed to spread among them a spirit of indepen-
dence ; than which nothing is so likely to emancipate them from the
false and servile influences out of which most of their errors and mis-
fortunes -have arisen. No man of sound understanding, and in pos-

144 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

session of the necessaries and comforts of life, will ever desire to see
popular disturbances.

To conclude ; as it cannot fail to be observed, that in the statement
here offered to our readers, we have broken off at those points, where
the practical facts and applications might be expected to follow, we
must again point out the peculiarity of our designs, which was to pre-
sent a rough and summary outline of the characteristic condition of
the period on which we are now to enter. It was characteristically a
period replete with the elements and workings of a great revolution, the
development of which belongs to a further period. A revolution, not
effected either by democratic strivings — as has falsely been supposed
— or by the expertness of party leaders, or the measures of administra-
tions; but by causes wholly antecedent, of which they are but effects.
In adverting to results, we have been reserved; for they are not within
our present scope; in the statement of principles we have endeavoured
to be as distinct as a necessary economy of space would allow; because
the language which we have been forced for clearness to use is pre-
occupied by all sorts of prejudice.

I. POLITICAL SERIES.

BORN A.D. 1705. — DIED A.D. 1757.

THIS illustrious soldier was the son of " an expatriated Irish officer ; he
entered the Austrian service, and, by his great skill and bravery when
employed against the Turks, rose to the rank of field-marshal. He
afterwards greatly distinguished himself at Placentia, and other
places in Italy; and at length died of the wounds he had received at
the battle of Prague."*

ILucag,

BOIIN A.D. 1713. — DIED A.D. 1771.

THE divisions which we have chosen to observe in the order of these
memoirs, are now to be connected in the lives of a few distinguished
persons who, having attained public notice in the termination of one
period, have lived also within the beginning of that which follows.
Such memoirs, belonging to two periods, may be disposed so as best
to favour the historical purpose to which our biography is but secon-
dary. Lucas — whose professional character, had it particularly de-
manded any commemoration would properly be placed in our literary
division — is here to be noticed on account of his political celebrity;
and he is chiefly selected here for the occasion which the principal inci-

* Maundcr's Biographical Treasury.

PERIOD.] CHARLES LUCAS, M.D. 145

dents of his life present for a slight retrospect, which, with a few
additional details in our memoir of lord Charlemont, will connect the
historical events related in a former volume, with the more momentous
and interesting order of events into which the subsequent memoirs
must lead.

The ancestors of Lucas were farmers in the county of Clare. It
is supposed that, by misfortune or mismanagement, the property of
his family was lost. The earliest notice we have been enabled to
obtain of him places him as an apothecary in Dublin. At a subse-
quent period he took the degree of doctor of medicine. Of his
private history the details are few. And we shall, therefore, here
proceed to introduce the civil contests in which he bore a distinguished
part; and which we consider to have interest both as true indications
of an interval in which our history is nearly silent, and also still more
importance, as the first steps and faint beginnings of a different state of
things. These, as we have suggested, appertain rather to the termina-
tion of the former period than to the beginning of the present, into
which Lucas lived about eleven years. It is thus that he becomes an
intermediate link between the two.

The interval between the revolution of 1688, and the accession of
George III., was one of comparative tranquillity, and which offers
little to the narration of history. As, upon a general view might be
anticipated, this interval was productive of some national growth in
the wealth, numbers and intelligence of the middle classes. An advance,
however, both concealed, and, to a great extent, retarded and neutral-
ized by the internal abuses — the misgovernment, and the dissensions,
essentially belonging to an immature and crude state of society. A
most complicated system of abuses prevailed — a powerful aristocracy,
consisting of a few great families, possessed an unconstitutional in-
fluence, the remains of an unconstitutional power. No longer per-
mitted to bring their followers to the field — they contended to out-
weigh each other in the scale of faction. To steer between these, to
obtain a preponderance by their division, and to govern by means of
the secret influences of intrigue, subordination and terror, was the
policy of the Castle, — a policy inconsistent with the good government
of a well-ordered constitution, but not perhaps without some reason-
able excuse in the times to which it is referred.

An immediate consequence of such a state of things was the diffu-
sion of a violent spirit of faction into every institution, and into every
public department. There was a pervading influence of abuse, feebly
counteracted by a faint spirit of opposition, — principles which, how-
ever, were gradually to become more balanced as the public ad-
vanced in political growth. There was not yet a sufficient power
in the popular elements*of opposition — since so enormously accum-
ulated into a preponderance — to give weight and sanction to mere
popular resistance. The Geraldine might encounter the Butler
— not as of old upon the field, but in the walls of a most corrupt and
subservient parliament, with the votes they could respectively muster
on the floor; and other great powers, similarly organized, might exer-
cise a similar weight with safety. But, for men like Lucas, it was
wholly a different thing. The administration were not compelled to

VOL. V. K

146 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

stand on points of law, or, as has since often occurred, to allow theffi-
selves to be evaded and defied from behind the seemingly insignificant
intrenchments of form ; still less was power deterred from going
straight to its victim by any weight existing in public opinion.

To be a patriot then was something — there was neither the stimulus of
applause, nor the prospect of self-interest. The man might be mistaken,
but his honesty could scarce be doubted. It was his part to brave
opposite dangers — the despotism of power, and the animosity of faction,
under circumstances in which ambition or the hope of preferment had
little to expect. The first appearance of Dr Lucas, upon the public
scene, was in the commencement of the growth of that popular spirit
which was afterwards, before his death, to make a bold and effective
stand against such a state of things.

Having early obtained a dangerous notoriety as a political writer,
he was, by the notice on some occasion drawn upon his writings, under
the necessity of escaping to the continent. On his return, he was
elected a member of the common council, where a field soon offered
for the most praiseworthy and honourable, as well as spirited resis-
tance to the encroachments and abuses of the privy council. The Irish
parliament had, in compensation for the act of settlement in the reign
of Charles II., given up the corporations of Ireland to be most avail-
able engines of despotic control in the hands of the administration: and
the Irish government, using the advantage to its full extent, deprived
the corporation of Dublin of its popular character, by transferring
some of its most important powers from the whole body to the board
of aldermen, — well indeed considering that such bodies must become
more inclined to subserviency, and in every way more manageable, as
their powers become vested in a smaller and more privileged circle.
We do not presume to say that an alderman is less likely to be an honest
man than a common-council man, — looking generally, the contrary is
the fact ; but one of a small body will always be found more prudential
and less bold than one of a multitude. He is more marked; he stands
closer to the seat of corruption and corrupt influence ; and it is to be
confessed, has more tempting allurements. We feel in duty bound to
add — though in no way necessary to our immediate concern, — that
there is an opposite extreme. Corporate institutions, when they con-
tain too large an infusion of the democratic element, can answer no
good purpose: but can only tend to give the same unconstitutional
authority to a rabble, as the former to a despotic power. That the
effect of this is, no one can doubt, to throw power into the hands of
those irresponsible and often unprincipled individuals by whom the
elements of disorder are governed, so far as may be. But to proceed:
the aldermen, not content with the privileges conferred on them by
the stated changes, usurped several rights to which they had no claim — .
and by these means obtained a degree of influence and authority,
which they used for the private ends of providing for their own fami-
lies, and sharing among themselves every lucrative post.

It was in or about the year 1743, that Lucas and another common-
council man, Mr James Latouche — a name honourable in the records
of Dublin — entered together into concert for the purpose of with-
standing the power of the board of aldermen.

PERIOD.] CHARLES LUCAS, M,D. 147

At that time, it appears that the city estate was encumbered to the
amount of £30,000— a circumstance which these gentlemen considered
as attributable to mismanagement, and perhaps to other abuses of a
more exceptionable nature. It was while engaged upon this inquiry,
that a new quarry started before their scrutiny. They thought they
had discovered that the right of electing aldermen was not in the
board ; but in the entire corporate body, the mayor, sheriffs, commons,
&c. A committee to inspect the city records, was appointed in the
common council, with Mr Latouche as chairman. Three reports
were brought in, strengthened with the most eminent legal opinions:
a suit was brought in the King's Bench, on a motion of quo warranto
against the last elected alderman ; but after a hearing, the court re-
fused to grant permission for an information. The efforts of the
common councii were thus rendered abortive, and the main confeder-
ates were left to sustain the weight of the board's displeasure, which
was shown by striking their names out of the triennial returns of com-
mon-council men.

A series of spirited exertions on the part of Lucas, which were
displayed during the continuation of this contest, brought both him-
self and his able confederate into great and popular notoriety. In
1740, the death of Sir J. Somerville, the member for Dublin, left a
vacancy in the representation, for which Latouche, Lucas, and another
gentleman, set up their claims, and addressed the electors. This com-
petition was looked upon with an eye of satisfaction by the aldermanic
board, who anticipated the division of their adversaries with no unfa-
vourable eye; and agreeably with such an expectation, the common
council quickly began to fall asunder: a division took place, in which
the several merits of the respective candidates were maintained by
their adherents.

This disunion, however, took a turn unfavourable to Lucas : his antag-
onist had taken a leading part in the previous contest, and been not only
the chairman of the committee, and drawn up the three several reports
which had been published on the part of the common council, but the
tone which he took in the contest was far more moderate, and less cal-
culated to compromise him with any party. The position which he
had thus obtained rendered it necessary for Lucas to go to extreme
lengths. While Latouche only questioned the jurisdiction of the
board, Lucas arraigned their administration, and thus made personal
enemies among a powerful and influential body. Unhappily he
thought it essential to his success to go to farther and still more
dangerous lengths. Latouche confined himself to the politics of the
corporation; but Lucas, in his address to the council, denounced the
public conduct of the administration, and assailed the authorities and
the parliament, in language which laid him open to the charge of sedi-
tion. Lucas was evidently, though by nature endowed with consid-
erable abilities — a man of more heat than discretion; and we can
have no doubt, from the comparison of his addresses, that his entire
conduct was, in that respect, the result of pure inadvertence: he hoped
to distinguish himself over his discreet antagonist, by displaying his
zeal for the rights and liberties of the people; and, while acting a
popular farce not uncommon among popular men, he overlooked the

148 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

ears and eyes of a far more formidable power. In one of his ad-
dresses* this sentence occurs, which, as it but more distinctly expresses
what is variously and strongly suggested throughout, we may quote
as his own sentiment. " If he (Latouche) be a true advocate for
liberty, let him show it in setting forth your constitutional rights and
liberties." And it was in the full and unqualified spirit of this
dangerous defiance that he spoke and wrote. The politic and wary
colleague and rival who was thus evoked to plunge, " upon a raw and
gusty day," into the dangerous tide of democratic agitation, saw more
clearly, or more prudently avoided the obvious peril. But Lucas
shrunk from no extreme of daring appeal and defiance; and while he
simply looked to outgo his rival in popularity, he roused the appre-
hension or the policy of the administration. It has, indeed, been
argued, from the general quiet of the town and country, as well as
from the apparent indifference manifested during these corporation
contests, by the Castle and the law-officers of the crown, that no
danger was in any way attached to the conduct of Lucas ; and that
the violence, of which he soon after became the mark, was simply for
the purpose of putting him down, and the result rather of a conspiracy
among the aldermen than any resentment or policy of government. We
have little doubt in combining both reasons. Whatever importance
might have been attached by the government to a contest, of which it
was the tendency to instil a democratic spirit in the corporation, or to a
series of pamphlets and speeches, which, whether well designed or not,
were well adapted to diffuse a similar spirit among the people; the
elevation of their author to an eminence of far more public authority
and influence was, unquestionably, an object to be feared. The suc-
cess of Lucas in arousing popular sentiment was even surprisingly
great; nor do we think it can be a stretch of conjecture to refer the
spirit of a period, later by not many years, to his exertion as a main
origin. In a country, of which the state was so immature and so re-
plete with all the elements of confusion, and which was, in a measure,
governed by a system of (perhaps) necessary abuses, such sentiments,
when once fully roused, could never again wholly sink to rest. They
are truly like those waves of incidental motion, which Mr Babbage
supposes to be propagated, without end, into the mass of undulations
•with which space is filled.f

On his part, Mr Latouche took the precisely opposite tone: against
the abuses, real or supposed, of the corporation, he declared his hos-
tility; but, as to the questions of more general scope, entertained so
violently by his rival, he, as distinctly, declared his dissent from his
opinions. The connexion between the two kingdoms he viewed as too
fixed to be shaken — he denied the dependence of Ireland to be an evil,
and pointed out the great and unquestionable benefits of which it was
the source — and deprecated, as rash and ruinous, any attempt to
awaken jealousies between the two countries. Of the substantial
truth and wisdom of these sentiments referred to that time, we can
have no doubt. To see the question in a different point of view,
it is necessary to commit the very general fallacy of looking on that

* The Hth, page 35. t Ninth Bridgewatcr Treatise.

PERIOD.] CHARLES LUCAS, M.D. 149

period through the history of after times, and applying reasons drawn
from a different stage of national, and, indeed, human progress. Ire-
land was misgoverned; and we much doubt if it could have heen
otherwise; but it must be admitted, that, under the tyranny — if it will
be called so — of " an old and haughty nation, proud in arms," Ireland
had, even at this time, arrived at a state of civilization far beyond
most of the continental nations, of which the advance had been less
interrupted. Ireland had, indeed, passed for centuries through the
process which no other country could have survived. It was the firm
tie that bound her to the mighty frame of England that upheld and
carried her onward on the wave of national vicissitude and progress.
The motives of Mr Latouche, like those of most public men, may have
been factious; but we think the ground which he took to have been
reconcil cable with an enlarged patriotism.

While the contest between these two men was pending, an event
occurred which altered the face of affairs. Mr Alderman Pearson,
the other member for the city, died in May, 1 749, and put an end to
the competition. In this emergency, the board of aldermen set up a
third candidate, a Mr Charles Burton, whose father, Mr Benjamin
Burton, had been a whig alderman, who had long been the repre-
sentative for the city, and had suffered considerably in the cause of
the corporation. This gentleman had left a considerable property to
his son, who having likewise become an alderman, was now called
upon by his civic brethren to stand for the city.

The popular party was alarmed, and a junction between the rivals
was urged. This they acceded to, and appeared together in the hall ;
but it was quite evident that there was still a hostile feeling between
them. The friends of Lucas admit that he had attacked Latouche
so unfairly, and with such bitterness, that it was impossible to sup-
pose the existence of any sincere cordiality.

While the two popular candidates continued to harangue the com-
panies in their halls, the candidates of the board took to the more
efficient and less laborious method of a personal canvass. This, too,
was loudly denounced by Lucas as an invasion of their liberties. In
the mean time, an accidental circumstance gave much encouragement
to the board of aldermen.

The tolls and customs had for a considerable time been falling in
value, from the mismanagement of the collectors, and it was not un-
reasonably thought that this would, to a great extent, be remedied by
committing them to the charge of individual self-interest, — the best
security that the constitution of things perhaps affords. On this un-
derstanding, an alderman undertook to farm them for a term of years
at a very advanced rate. Lucas immediately denounced the transac-
tion as a job, and alleged that the assembly of the commons, in which
the proposal had been discussed and carried, was a packed assembly,
and insinuated that they who had been summoned were slaves to the
board, and prompt to execute their purposes.

Thus it will at once be seen, a large party of the commons must
have been insulted and irritated ; and the effect was immediately felt.
Acting promptly on the occasion, the board obtained a resolution from
which the commons could not well shrink — that so lowering a charge

150 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

against their own body was false, scandalous, and malicious. Lucas at-
tempted to defend himself, but was refused a hearing; while the com-
mon council, in a second meeting, not only voted a confirmation of the
former censure, but passed a resolution of thanks to the author of a
pamphlet called " Lucas Detected," which was read in council.

The result was an appeal on the part of Lucas and his friends, from
the common council to the corporations. So far they succeeded.
Fifteen out of the twenty-five corporations took their part.

But, in the mean time, a general collision of public sentiment and
party feeling could not fail to grow out of such a prolonged and
exciting contest. In all party strivings, it is known that everything
that is done or said, and every passion that is excited becomes
magnified and altered as it passes from circle to circle, and that
all accusation, when it thus loads the breeze of rumour, soon assumes
the most extreme shape. The writings and speeches of Lucas
were understood as the cover of worse designs than they expressed;
and it, indeed, required no misinterpretation to render them in the
highest degree obnoxious. He was supposed to be the author of a
weekly paper, called the " Censor," which was filled with the most
scandalous attacks upon his antagonists. Of this the language was
brutal, malignant, and replete with the froth and venom of the lowest
malignity; so that, indeed, we have our doubts as to the fairness of
ascribing it to Lucas, though it breathes of the atmosphere in which
his very virtues must, to some extent, have placed him.

While those disputes were at the height, lord Harrington, the lord-
lieutenant, came over. His character was popular, and it was a gen-
eral impression that he would be inclined to side against the alder-
men. Some circumstances of a determining complexion were yet un-
known, and there were current many reports of his private conversa-
tion and sentiments, very much adapted to awaken the expectations of
the popular party. Under such impressions, Lucas was induced to
wait upon him, and to present him with a copy of the papers which
formed the substance of those writings and addresses for which he had
been accused. The lord-lieutenant listened to him, with the civility
which belonged to his own character and to strict justice. He asked
him questions, listened politely and patiently to his replies, and dis-
missed him with every mark of courtesy. Lucas took all this, as
might be anticipated from his own blunt and frank simplicity of char-
acter and ignorance of manners. He failed to notice that lord Har-
rington had expressed no opinion, but had simply, and in candour,
given him a fair hearing. It did not occur to him that no inference
could be drawn from the courtesy of a gentleman, or that the lord-
lieutenant did not feel himself called on to exercise that more rude
office of repulsion, which more appropriately belongs to the Cerberus
who stands at the outer door. Lucas, in his simplicity, considered
the field his own, and felt himself authorized to reckon on the counte-
nance of the lord-lieutenant. On the next levee he accordingly came,
but was surprised and mortified by an intimation to withdraw.

There could be little doubt as to the real meaning of such an indica-
tion : and a few days after, on the opening of the parliament, the lord-
lieutenant's speech contained an allusion too plain to be misunderstood.

PERIOD.] CHARLES LUCAS, M.D. 151

Two days after, the subject was directly introduced; a complaint was
made, enumerating all the several writings in which Lucas had ex-
pressed the most decided sentiments of a popular tendency, and it was
moved and ordered that he and his printer should next day attend, to
be examined before a committee of the house.

He attended, offered to vindicate himself, and was, of course, told
that he was there only to answer such questions as should be put.
Among other evidence brought forward, the books and papers which
he had presented to the lord-lieutenant were produced. When he was
ordered to withdraw, four resolutions were passed, affirmatory of his
guilt, and calling for a prosecution, with an order that he should at
once be committed a close prisoner in Newgate jail, for his infringe-
ment and violation of the privileges of the house.

Sir Thomas Prendergast alone made an ineffectual stand in his
favour, and it was clear that there was a strong combination of hos-
tility accumulated against him, from which it was also plain that
there -was no efficient shelter. Convinced of this, Lucas withdrew
from the impending danger, by returning to England.

His absence, as usual in such cases, abated the edge of hostility, and
gave rise to the gradual development of a reaction iu his favour, of
which he afterwards reaped the benefit.

On his return, he was elected member for the city. Here a new
field was open for the exertion of his practical talent and keen popu-
lar spirit. He was not slow to seize upon the occasion, and took a pro-
minent part in obtaining leave to bring in a bill to limit the duration
of parliaments. As this is but one of the incidents of a long-con-
tinued struggle, we shall not here enter upon the discussion of it. We
cannot afford to prolong the memoir of Lucas, and have only so far
gone into detail as we consider the foregoing transactions to have an
important relation to the first commencement of a train of historical
events, into which we are to enter in detailed succession in a succeed-
ing memoir. We must now hurry to a close.

The remainder of his political life may be succinctly given in the
list of bills which Lucas endeavoured in vain to bring in for the amelio-
ration and advantage of the country — all, we may add, unquestionably
adapted to remedy great and obvious evils. Of these it was severally
the intent to secure the freedom and independence of parliament, by
ascertaining the qualifications of the members, and for vacating the
seats of such members as should accept of any office under the crown.

In 1765, the heads of a bill which had been sent over to England
were returned, with a new interpolated clause, vesting a dispensing
power in the king in council. Against this Lucas, with other active
members of the popular party, exerted themselves in vain, and
Lucas published an address on the subject to his constituents, in which
he attacked the measure with his wonted spirit and impetuosity.

As might be indeed imagined, the man of popular assemblies was
not altogether as effective as a speaker in an assembly of lawyers and
trained orators. The following extract from Mr Hardy, in his life of
Charlemont, is probably as correct as it is graphic. " As a politician,
he was, as the Due de Beaufort was called during the time of the
Fronde at Paris, un roi des holies — a sovereign of the corporations.

152 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

In the house of commons his importance was withered, and compara-
tively shrunk to nothing; for the most furious reformer must admit
that, however the representation was in many instances narrowed into
private interests, it still embraced the most conspicuous and useful
orders in the state, where, if education and knowledge are not to be
found, how are they to be sought after? Lucas had, in truth, little or
no knowledge as a leader in parliament; and his efforts there were
too often displayed in a sort of tempestuous alacrity to combat men,
whose lofty disregard of him left them at full liberty to pursue their
argument as if nothing had disturbed them. Self-command, whether
constitutional or arising from occasional contempt, is a most potent
auxiliary. His opponents were sometimes, indeed, rendered indig-
nant; but, whether calm or angry, the battle always left him worse
than before. Yet, with all this precipitancy, and too frequent want
of knowledge, he annexed a species of dignity to himself in the house
of commons that was not without its effect."

Lucas was, nevertheless, very much respected by several of the most
eminent English as well as Irish noblemen of his generation, and this
fact has value in our general estimate of him in two ways. The higher
nobility of England, in very few cases, and those marked as exceptions
by some eccentricity of character, have been known to stoop so very
low as to countenance pretensions arising from mere popularity. Such
persons living in the great world, and conversant with the ways of men,
are always unlikely to be imposed upon by the vulgar insolence of pre-
tended patriotism; and, as the conduct of Lucas was, in fact, such as
might appear to expose him to the suspicion of being actuated by a low
popular ambition, we are inclined to consider the respect with which
he was met as tending to prove the same inference which we have al-
ready urged. We consider that it must have been felt among the bet-
ter order of public men at that time, that Lucas had right and justice
on his side, and the real good of Ireland at heart. The king, George
III., also, may be inferred, from some passages in the writings of Lucas,
to have in some way shown him kindness, and the loyalty of Lucas
was, like all his sentiments, enthusiastic.

In one of his later writings, there is an affecting confession of the
weariness he felt of a life of labour and sacrifice spent in vain. We may
extract a few sentences: — " I have quitted a comfortable settlement in
a free country, to embark in your service. I have attended constantly,
closely, strictly to my duty. I have broke my health, impaired my
fortune, hurt my family, and lost an object dearer to me than life, by
engaging with unwearied care and painful assiduity, in this painful,
thankless, perilous service. All this might be tolerable, if I could find
myself useful to you or to my country. But the only benefit I can
see, results to those whom I cannot look upon as friends to my coun-
try; bands of policemen and pensioners, whose merit is enhanced, and
whose number has been generally increased in proportion to the oppo-
sition given to the measures of ministers. I dare not neglect, much
less desert my station, but I wish by any lawful or honourable means,
for my dismissal."

As a physician, Dr Lucas obtained considerable practice. Lord
Charlemont was among those who employed and derived advantage

PERIOD.] ANTHONY MALONE. 153

from his skill. It is not unlikely that his political character and con-
nexion must have extended his professional walk not a little; while it
may be as justly presumed to have engrossed much of his time and
industry; but then it is to be acknowledged, that medical science lay
•within a smaller compass. In 1756, he published a treatise upon the
Bath waters, which raised his medical reputation greatly at the time.

In his old age, he was an object of general respect — which his
appearance and venerable deportment in society contributed to increase.
During the latter years of his life, he was reduced to the lowest state
of infirmity by repeated attacks of gout, so that he was always
carried to the house of commons, where he could scarcely stand for a
moment. In this situation he is thus described, " the gravity and un-
common neatness of his dress ; his gray, venerable locks, blending with
a pale but interesting countenance, in which an air of beauty was still
visible, altogether excited attention, and I never knew a stranger come
into the house, without asking who he was."

He was married three times — at his last marriage he was so crippled
as to be carried to bed. He left children by his three wives.

He died in 1771. He had a public funeral, attended by the lord
mayor and principal members of the corporation in their robes — as well
as by numerous members of the house of commons. A subscription was
raised, chiefly among the merchants of Dublin, for a statue which was
placed in the royal exchange.

BORN A.D. 1700.— DIED A.D. 1776.

THE history of the family of Malone is deeply interesting for its well
authenticated antiquity, and will be found by the curious reader de-
tailed at sufficient length in Mr Archdall's edition of Lodge.* From
this valuable account, we select a few particulars.

The Malones are a branch of the O'Conor family. The reader is
already aware, that at an early period, before fixed surnames began to
identify by a common name the descendants of a common ancestor, the
individuals of a family were designated by some local or personal dis-
tinction— a custom which is indeed yet to- be traced among the Irish
— though these distinctions are confined to their own language. Of
this, examples may be pointed out in the branches of the O'Conors
yet remaining. One of the descendants of this family having become
bald, or been tonsured in honour of St John — for Archdall mentions
two accounts — obtained the name of ' Maol Eoin/ i. e. bald John. This
became in the course of time corrupted into Malone: and as this oc-
curred soon after the custom of surnames was introduced, it became
the family name.

In the wars between the kings of Meath and Connaught, the latter
were mostly successful. And in the latter end of the eleventh cen-
tury, they obtained a settlement in West Meath, for the branch of bald

* Lodge, Vol. vii. p. 280.

154 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTii

John. This was a district closely bordering on Connaught, on the east
of the Shannon, and a few miles from Athlone. As this was near the
ancient see of Clonmacnoise, the Malones were considerable benefac-
tors to the abbey, of which many of them had been abbots. The ancient
estate of the family is called Ballymahone, or Riverstown, within 5
miles from Athlone, and is we believe yet in the family.

We now pass to Richard, the father of Anthony Malone. If the
want of materials did not offer an insurmountable obstacle, it would
be no less our duty to commemorate this eminent man in a separate
memoir, as from the brief and scanty accounts of him which we pos-
sess, he seems to have been a man of first rate legal and forensic
powers, and to have possessed talents very much the same in quality
and combination, as those of his more known son. We shall here
offer the few particulars which remain.

While yet a student in the temple, Richard Malone was employed
by the interest of lord Gal way as a negotiator in Holland, and ob-
tained the warm approbation of king William for the discretion and
ability with which he acquitted himself of his charge. In the year
1700, he was called to the Irish bar, at which he soon rose to so high
a reputation that no other barrister of his time, or, excepting his son
of the generation immediately succeeding, was considered to have
any claim of equal comparison with him. The following portrait is
given by Mr Archdall : — " Richard Malone is said to have somewhat
resembled the late Sir Robert Walpole, but was handsomer and better
made than that eminent statesman. His person and deportment were
graceful and engaging ; his countenance was placid, yet expressive ; and
his voice strong and sweet. In every cause in which he was engaged
he was so strenuous and ardent that, when defeated, his clients ac-
quiesced without murmuring, from a conviction that nothing was lost
for want of ability or exertion. In stating cases, he peculiarly excelled,
and was no less happy in his addresses to juries, whose passions he
could at all times wind to his purpose. His knowledge in the subtle
and profound parts of the law, and his accuracy in drawing pleadings,
both in law and equity, were equal to his elocution, which was of the
first rate."

Such was the worthy father of a worthy son who followed in his
track in times more favourable to his fame. He left four sons, who
all arrived at high practice during their father's life. Anthony, the
eldest, and the subject of the following notice, was born in December,
1700. In his twentieth year he entered as a gentleman commoner in
Christ Church College, Oxford. He continued there two years,
after which he removed to London to pursue his legal studies in the
Temple; and in May, 1726, he was called to the Irish bar. The fol-
lowing year he was elected to represent the county of Westmeath, in
parliament — and continued to hold his seat without any interruption
till 1760.

In 1733, he married a daughter of Sir Ralph Gore, speaker of the
house of commons. In 1740, he was appointed prime serjeant, and
held the office for fourteen years, till 1754, when he was dismissed for
joining in an effort to maintain the right of the house of commons to
dispose of unappropriated sums without the crown's consent, — an act

PERIOD.] ANTHONY MALONE. 155

of insubordination which may serve at the lowest to illustrate the high
tone of independence, at that time participated in by few. Under the
overruling and encroaching system of castle or council supremacy,
which pervaded every institution in that day, it was not easy for such
a man to continue long in any connexion with the administration :
while, at the same time, his commanding powers and high reputation
rendered it impossible that he should be passed over in the official
appointments of his profession. In 1757, he was appointed chancellor
of the exchequer, but was dismissed in 1760, on which he again as-
sumed his barrister's gown. He soon after obtained a seat in the
privy council, and a patent of precedence at the bar, before any of the
legal officers of the crown, — " a precedence," says Archdall, " as
was justly observed at the time, which nature had given him before,
and which the king could not take from him."

In the latter periods of his career, it will be inferred from his more
close connexion with government, that he must have attached himself
to the policy of an administration, of which he cannot be presumed to
have approved. But the condition of the country was then very
peculiar; the time had, in fact, not arrived for effective opposition.
There was no general spirit of resistance, and no strong phalanx of
independence, and genius, to resist. A person (like Lucas for example,)
of strong zeal, with a fiery spirit, and a breast impatient in the vindica-
tion of national rights, without a wide comprehension of constitutional
workings, their causes and tendencies, would be led on to take his stand
on local abuses, and partial questions, and waste much industry, acute-
ness, zeal, and courage, in a hopeless war of outposts. But the sagacity
of a great constitutional lawyer was not so to be deceived. Malone soon
began to measure, with a clear insight, the true forces which were at
work, and to compute with precision, what the true value of opposi-
tion was likely to be. He saw how far off the period really was,
when a resistance, which must depend on a combination of circum-
stances and talents not then existing, could have any prospect of
success. He never doubted that all efforts, which might tend to pro-
mote and keep alive the spirit of constitutional resistance, must tend,
however remotely, to good effects. But he saw where, and how, he
could himself be most serviceable to his country. He saw, what was
universally apparent, that there existed no effectual opposition; and
that the only consequence which followed from an unavailing resist-
ance was, that it wholly neutralized the talent and public virtue of
those by whom it was offered: and he most wisely conceived that his
own influential and authoritative abilities ought to be disposed where
alone they could have any weight. It seemed to him, and justly, that,
by obtaining weight and authority in the Irish government, he might
enlighten and moderate its councils; and thus, in some degree, temper
the measures of a power which he saw it was vain to resist. That
these were mainly his actuating sentiments, appears strongly suggested
by a passage which we shall here extract from Archdall. " Having
found, by observation and experience, that, in all the contests between
Ireland and England, Ireland was finally the sufferer, he thought it most
prudent — as he has more than once observed to the writer of this
account — to make the best compromise that could be made with our

156 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

powerful neighbours; and, on all great occasions, to conciliate rather
than to exasperate." With such views he supported the measures of
government, while he endeavoured in the privy council, and often with
success, to turn away, in the beginning, such councils as he saw likely
to lead to prejudicial results.

His honesty was never called in question ; it was so conspicuous a
portion of his character, and so distinctly indicated in every part of
his public conduct and private conversation, that it could never occur
to the most fastidious observer, to refer his actions to any motive but
the most honourable. He scrupulously abstained from seeking those
favours from the government, to which every public man who supports
its main policy has a just claim, and may both ask and accept without
reproach. The principle of his public conduct was perfectly under-
stood; in council he uniformly withstood such measures as he con-
sidered in any way detrimental to the interest of Ireland, and thus in
numerous instances succeeded in obtaining important modifications
of measures, which he was in consistency as well as prudence
obliged to support in public; a rule of conduct which, it is allowed,
is the obligation of every public man who has any weight ; but at
that time more especially necessary on distinct grounds. " On
many great occasions," writes his panegyrist, " did he successfully
oppose in the privy council, measures which he considered prejudicial
to Ireland, and unjustifiable; choosing rather to benefit his country,
by crushing baneful projects while yet in agitation, than to snatch at
a fleeting popularity, by opposing them when matured and submitted
to the decision of parliament."

Even in his practice as a barrister, there was a very general im-
pression that his advocacy was, in a very unusual manner, governed by
a fastidious natural equity. On the wrong side of the argument,
much of his power was repressed ; he stated the arguments fairly in
behalf of his client, but he disdained to adorn false claims with the
specious falsehood of sophistry. On such occasions he discharged his
duty, but no more; and it was considered as an unfavourable sign of
the event of a suit, when at the close of his statement he left the
court.

For the first twenty years, according to the custom in Ireland, he
practised in all the courts, — a custom which we believe still exists, arid
must continue to exist, in a country in which it is impossible that, to a
junior at least, the business of any one court could afford a sufficient
share of employment. During the last thirty years of his life he con- .
fined himself to Equity business.

His style is described as a model of forensic eloquence — plain, flow-
ing, perspicuous, and uniformly adapted to his subject ; deriving
force as well as clearness from a masterly arrangement of his argu-
ments and topics; and, such at the same time was the fulness of his
statement, that he left the impression that there could be nothing
more said upon the subject. He seems to have merited the description
of Antony which is given by Cicero, " Omnia veniebant Antonio in
mentem ; eaque suo qua?que in loco ubi plurimum proficere et valere
possent," — Mr Grattan, giving that testimony which is of all praise
the most valuable, has preserved the following recollections,

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 157

which we give entire with his own comment. " Mr Malone, one of
the characters of 1753, was a man of the finest intellect that any coun-
try ever produced." " The three ablest men I have ever heard were,
Mr Pitt (the father), Mr Murray, and Mr Malone. For a popular
assembly, I would choose Mr Pitt; for a privy council, Murray; for
twelve wise men, Malone." This was the opinion which lord Sack-
ville, the secretary of 1753, gave to a gentleman from whom I heard
it. " He is a great sea in a calm," said Mr Gerrard Hamilton,
another great judge in men and talents; " Ay," it was replied, " but
had you seen him when he was young, you would have said that he
was a great sea in a storm, and, like the sea, whether in calm or
storm, he was a great production of nature."

Mr Malone has been praised for the sweet serenity of his temper,
for the grace of his manner, and for the lofty composure with which
he ever looked down superior on slight causes of irritation or dis-
appointment.

He continued to take a part in public proceedings, and was in the
fullest exercise of his profession to the time of his death, which
occurred on 8th May, 1776.

A writer who has given in the first number of the Dublin Penny
Journal, a brief sketch, which is apparently drawn from the same
source which has supplied the chief part of the foregoing memoir, has
remarked with great propriety — " Though our task is to record the
characters of those whom death has placed beyond the reach of flattery,
and not to eulogize the living generation, we cannot avoid remarking
the strong resemblance which the above sketch bears to a distinguished
member of the same profession in our own times. The peculiar modesty
of that individual would feel hurt by the coupling of his name with so
high a panegyric, but the members of his profession will find no diffi-
culty in identifying him with the picture." We extract this sentence,
because it contains a most just and appropriate comparison, of which
—if the main features of this memoir have any truth — the propriety is
so striking as to demand no addition of a name. The combination of
faithful service with proud integrity ; of rational patriotism with scorn
of popularity; are not the profuse production of any period of history.
The peculiar style which derives perspicuity and power from order,
from the due subordination and the masterly arrangement, is not the
characteristic of many Irish orators of the best periods of our senate
or bar. When we but remotely advert to the high spirit and delicate
sense of honour which has ever shrunk from the shadow of imputation,
and even kept the public man subordinate to the high-spirited Irish
gentleman; the picture is as complete as if it came from the hand of
Cregan or Rothwell, Burton or Lawrence.

, lEatl of

BORN A.D. 1728. DIED A.D. 1799.

THE life of James, earl of Charlemont, has been through various
channels placed before the public, with an unusual degree of detail.

158 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

And we should hold ourselves exempt from the obligation to enter
minutely, or at length, into statements which have been so often and so
varidusly repeated, were it not for the peculiarly central station
which his lordship occupied during the most important interval of our
history.

The ancestors of his race have been already noticed in these pages.*
His grandfather, the second viscount Charlemont, took a forward and
distinguished part in the wars which preceded and led to the revolution
of 1688; and was visited with attainder and sequestration by the
parliament of James II. He was restored to his honours and posses-
sions by William, from whom he obtained several promotions, and that
ancient honour of his family, the government of Charlemont fort. He
served under the celebrated earl of Peterborow in Spain. At the
siege of Barcelona he won signal honour, in the command of the first
brigade, at the head of which he forced an entrance. And immediately
after, he obtained still higher distinction by his conduct in an attack
upon the citadel of Monjuich. On this occasion he was presented by lord
Peterborow to the king of Spain, as one whose services merited special
notice, and received his majesty's thanks accordingly. Advancing by a
rapid ascent in the career of military distinction, he rose by merit to the
rank of major-general, and was made governor of the counties of
Tyrone and Armagh. He married the only daughter of primate
Margetson, and by her had five daughters and seven sons; of whom
James, the second son, and father to James the subject of the follow-
ing memoir, was the third viscount.

His second son James, of whom we are now to relate the history,
was born in Dublin on the 18th of August, 1728.

From the delicacy of his constitution it was not thought advisable
to send him to a public school, and he was accordingly educated at
home by private tutors, — a method, of which we think we can trace
the advantages and disadvantages in every part of his after life. The
singleness and purity of his character, which render him an eminent
model of all that is noble and high in the character of the perfect
gentleman ; the heart, without fear or reproach, may be in some measure
traced to his fortunate isolation from the most sure working and swift
of all moral contaminations, those which are infused at that age, when
every impression imparts something to the growth of the character;
while the want of that rough training, and those hourly collisions which
arm the schoolboy with indifference and nerve, in the gaze of the
public eye, may be in some degree detected in the reserve which
kept his lordship silent in parliament. This may perhaps be refining
overmuch ; it may be admitted that it is easier to enumerate hundreds
of home-bred roues or school-bred mutes, than a gentleman or states-
man like the earl of Charlemont. Among his tutors, one was that Mr
Murphy — whose name is so familiar to the schoolboy as the editor of
the lesser dialogues of Lucian — a gentleman who acquitted himself
so satisfactorily in his charge, that he earned the respect and friend-
ship of his pupil, and was afterwards the companion of his travels.

In 1746, at the early age of eighteen, he had completed no incon-

* Vol. II. p. 396.

PEBIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 159

siderable range of classical reading. It is mentioned by Mr Hardy
that, having found his extreme deficiency in school attainments when
the instructions of Mr Murphy were obtained, he then devoted himself to
his studies with such close industry as to injure his sight. It must
have been a seasonable relaxation to such assiduity, when in his eigh-
teenth year he was sent to travel on the continent. Notwithstanding
his youth, it is easy to perceive that his understanding was fully ma-
tured for the advantages of travel ; he set out with a mind pre-
eminently qualified to be instructed by a wide and various range of
observation and intercourse. His first visit was to Holland, where
he had the good fortune to be present during a political movement of
considerable interest, terminated by the establishment of the prince of
Orange in the government. From thence he visited the English army
in Germany, where he was received with distinction by the duke
of Cumberland, with whom, if we rightly understand Mr Hardy, he
remained some time as a guest, and who was very kind to him ever
after.

From the English camp he proceeded to Turin, eager perhaps to
visit a place no less deeply interesting to the classical scholar for its
historical recollections, than for its ancient and celebrated university.
It must be considered as a highly characteristic incident of his life,
that, immediately after his arrival, he entered as a student in the
academy of Turin, which was, we believe, appropriated for persons of
rank, and pursued his studies there for a year, — a step which indicates,
most unequivocally, the order to which his frame of mind belonged;
the study of self-improvement, and the eager and curious appetite for
acquirement, frequent enough in those who have been taught the
advantage of these attainments by their want ; but only developed
as the early and spontaneous growth of natural disposition in those
who are constitutionally of an intellectual temperament. This reflection
is indeed suggested by an impression of some undefined similarity be-
tween the subject of this memoir, and the hon. Robert Boyle, who, in
circumstances something similar, displayed a similarly inquisitive
activity of observation, and readiness of intercourse and address,
though, iu him, combined with some more profound and sterner attri-
butes of character. It is probable that here lord Charlemont first
began to show that most engaging combination of conversational
qualities that continued through life to win respect and affection for
him, to an extent which we have not often to record. Here he formed
an intimacy with the prince royal, who was his fellow-student, and
received the most courteous attention from the king of Sardinia and
the royal family. The Sardinian court was then the resort of persons
eminent for their literature and science, and his lordship availed him-
self fully of the inestimable advantages which the intercourse of such
men can only give, and which can only be fully imparted to those who
are themselves competently endowed. Such an interval, to one whose
taste and talents seem to have been so fitted to communicate and receive
the fire of intellectual collision, must have been a school to fix and
to complete the character in which he always after appears, and which
was undoubtedly the character of his mind. Among others with
whom he at this time formed an acquaintance, was Hume. It is

160 POLITICAL SERIES. [ FIFTH

mentioned as a proof of his good sense and steadiness, that his religious
principles had not been overturned by the infidel metaphysician. We
cannot say that we attach much importance to such an indication: we
cannot imagine Hume, who was much, and we believe deservedly,
loved by his private friends, could have made it his ordinary practice
to assail their faith ; such an indiscretion would have soon thinned his
circle of all its worthiest friends. There were unhappily everywhere
minds enough to admire and seek out the infidel — there was in France,
Italy, and even in England, ample range for unchecked sneers at
Divine truth ; but Hume was too much a gentleman in spirit, and of
too amiable a temper, to assail the Christianity of those who possessed
any. He was too sagacious to be convinced by his own pre-eminently
fallacious metaphysics. And assuredly his arguments, which he him-
self characterized as carrying no conviction,* were not very likely to
make any impression on the plain common sense of any one — not
already an infidel. Mr Hardy's account of this period of his life con-
tains some very highly interesting notices of the person and manners
of Hume, with which we should be very anxious to ornament our
memoir, were it not that having very much essential matter to narrate,
we are compelled to confine our narrative within the least possible
compass. Hume was then at Turin, as secretary to Sir .John Sinclair,
ambassador to the Sardinian court. " He had," writes lord Charle-
mont, " kindly distinguished me from among a number of young men
who were then in the academy."

His lordship left Turin for Rome, October, 1748. He remained
at Naples during the winter ; and in the spring, with several
English gentlemen, he sailed from Leghorn for Constantinople. On
the 8th day of May, they came within sight of Messina, having passed
" the poetical dangers of Scylla and Charybdis." As they approached
the quay, a boat came alongside with the disagreeable intelligence,
that they could not be suffered to enter the city until they should
first have been examined by the officers of health. They were accor-
dingly forced to remain for three hours on the naked beach, until the
proper officers should arrive. At the end of this time, they were
cautiously approached by the officials, and, from a safe distance,
questioned about the port from which they came. When Leghorn was
mentioned, their fear seemed in some degree abated, and they ventured
more near, and assumed a more unreserved tone. The travellers were
then directed to enter a little hut, into which when they were crowded,
a bar was put up at about three feet from the ground, over which they
were desired to leap. This was an easy feat to all but one corpulent
gentleman, who, after many desperate efforts, with difficulty escaped
from the severe infliction of a quarantine: such a trial was perhaps
rather too indiscriminately applied to a corpulent person. The same
gentleman seems indeed to have had a narrow escape from the
vigilance of the officials ; as upon a more severe inspection it would
have been discovered that he was affected with a symptom which is
common to the plague, and a different ailment under which he was
then suffering. On entering Messina, a dreary scene of desolation

* Hume's Essays.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 161

presented itself; scarcely a passenger was to be seen on the grass-
grown pavements of a splendid city, famed but a little before for its
prosperity and populousness. The shops were shut, the palaces
deserted. The plague had raged for three months, and in that city
alone, carried off forty-seven thousand persons, not far from five-sixths
of the entire population. These are a few main particulars taken
from his lordship's forcible and affecting narrative ; to which he
added some just remarks which show both a reflecting and observing
turn of mind.

Such a state of things could not be very inviting, and the party
did not linger in this place of gloom and desolation, but hastened their
departure by Malta and Smyrna, towards the Dardanelles. His lord-
ship did not fail to perform the usual pilgrimage of taste to the Troad,
and reached Constantinople, where he continued for a month in his
wonted way, conversing freely with every one, and inquiring curiously
about everything worth knowing. While here, he attained his
twenty-first year, which he celebrated by an ode after the ordinary
manner of imitating Horace, which was, we believe, a fashion among
the scholars of his day. Mr Hardy has printed it; it indicates an
elegant taste, though not much more. Some of the stanzas are writ-
ten with ease, simplicity and terseness ; others are marked by forced
construction; and none display anything beyond the trite reflections
which the subject has never failed to present; yet, compared with
the average poetry of his day, we cannot conclude that lord Charle-
mont might not, as a mere literary man, have stood far above medio-
crity. Where there is clear common sense and correct taste — the
eminent qualities of his lordship — it is hardly credible how ideas
accumulate, and fresh power may be developed in any direction, up to
a certain point; and this point we would fix, in general, by the highest
level reached by the same individual in other attainments of a kindred
kind. These birth-day verses are addressed to Richard Marlay, after-
wards bishop of Waterford, and always one of lord Charlemont's
most especial friends.

He remained at Constantinople for a month, and then embarked
for Egypt, visiting, on his way, Lesbos, Chios, MityFene, Delos, and
Paros — niveamgue Paron, sparsasque per aequor Cycladas — looking
at everything with that tasteful enthusiasm which filled his mind, and
was among its most remarkable features. From Paros he reached Alex-
andria, and remained long enough in Egypt to see all its principal objects
of curiosity and wonder. He then set sail for Cyprus, but was driven
so far westward by a succession of cross-winds, that he was compelled
to change his intention, and anchor in Rhodes. From this, after
much tossing about, and some delightful landings and excursions, he
reached Athens. From Athens he made several excursions, of which
he wrote interesting accounts in his most graphic and lively style.
Among the various adventures which he met was a tremendous tem-
pest, of which he has given a detailed account, too long for insertion
here, but not inferior in truth and terror to any of the many similar
descriptions which we can remember. Jt was a Levanter, which com-
menced at noon, increased all clay, and at night grew furious beyond

VOL. V. L

162 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

description. They were ignorant of their position in that dreadful
night, having been for many days unable to take any observation, and
imagined themselves to be driving up the formidable gulf of the
Adriatic. The tempest still increased, and with it all those incidents
of terror and desperate precaution so calculated to shake the lands-
man's heart. Among other awful casualties the cannon broke loose,
and, with the ballast, came with a tremendons crash to the leeside, which
nearly lay upon the water. " If the whole world," says his lordship,
" should, by sudden explosion, be rent asunder, I question whether
the shock would be greater to each individual than what was now felt
in our little world. Every heart quaked with fear, and horror ap-
peared in every countenance. The ship, weighed down by the shift-
ing of her ballast, &c., was unable to right herself, and lay gunwale
under water, at the mercy of the billows. In this awful situation,
the only resource appears to have been one which was so hazardous,
that the captain, when he stated what it was, added, ' I am an old
sailor, and should fear to attempt it. But it is our only means of
safety, and if there be a fellow among you brave enough ' — here he
was instantly interrupted by Tom Sillers, I never shall forget his
name — who stood next to him ; this truly, and, I may add, philosophi-
cally brave fellow, taking from his cheek the plug of tobacco, cried
out, ' by G — , master, if we must die, 'tis better to die doing some-
thing.' His words accompanied his action." The danger was
thus postponed. Having retired to bed, after an " hour's horrid
uncertainty," the captain came to scare them with the information
that "he feared all was over," and advised them to prepare for the
worst. There was a momentary silence, which was singularly broken
by an exclamation from Mr F. Burton, — " Well," exclaimed this
gentleman, " and, I fear," writes lord Charlemont, " with an oath,
this is fine indeed! Here have I been pampering this great body of
mine for more than twenty years, and all to be a prey to some cursed
shark, and be damned to him." The " unexpected oddity " of this
exclamation, at such a time, afforded a moment's mirth, on which per-
haps fear itself was willing to seize as a brief respite. The ship's
carpenter next appeared with the friendly design to reassure them:
but his consolation had in it a serious qualification. The ship was,
he said, sound; but there was, indeed, "one rotten plank, and that a
principal one: let that hold and we are all safe!" It may easily be con-
ceived how, as the noble writer says, their fancy turned on the rotten
plank all night. During this long and dreadful night all Avas antici-
pation of the most revolting and terrific nature, added to no slight
bodily suffering and injury. " Yet still," writes his lordship, " we
hoped — the principle of religion was active in our souls, and despair
fled before it. Wo to the wretch, who, in such a situation, is desti-
tute of this comfort."

After much suffering, the sun rose, the wind fell, and the danger
passed away. In a few hours more, land appeared; the joy was great,
and this was still increased when they found that they had actually
gained their intended port in the island of Malta. The quarantine of
40 days to which they were condemned, appeared as a trifle after such

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 1 63

danger so narrowly escaped. In ten days, however, they grew weary,
and, petitioning the grand-master, had their probation shortened to
13 days more, at the end of which they landed.

At Malta, lord Charlemont was received with great and memorable
consideration and civility; the established usages of the place were, in
some respects set aside for the visitors. As an Irish peer he was re-
ceived, according to etiquette, with his hat on. The grand-master,
prohibited by usage from eating with them, joined the company when
dinner was removed. Masked balls, long forbidden on account of the
riots which they had occasioned, were renewed for their entertain-
ment. In Malta, dissipation and luxury, and, consequently, vice of all
descriptions were carried to the most extreme lengths. " The town
of Malta is one vast brothel," was the pithy and comprehensive descrip-
tion of his lordship. The military monks, having no occupation but
to live, and, bound by their vows to celibacy, compensated themselves
by the lowest depths and latitudes of profligacy. Debauched themselves,
they debauched the island. " Every woman, almost, is a knight's mis-
tress, and every mistress intrigues with other men. Hither flock, as
to an established mart for beauty, the female votaries of Venus from
every distant region — Armenians, Jewesses, Greeks, Italians." From
such a scene it was, perhaps, no small relief once more to feel them-
selves upon the sea.

On his return to Italy lord Charlemont renewed his acquaintance
with the Sardinian court, and was present at the marriage of the
young prince, who particularly requested his attendance. He had by
this time attained so complete a mastery of the Italian tongue, that the
natural graces of his conversation were set off to the utmost advan-
tage, and a large accession of distinguished friends was added to his
circle. Having next passed some time at Verona — where he was
much cultivated by the Marchese Scipione Maffei — he proceeded to
Rome, where he continued to reside two years, and was, says Mr
Hardy, one of the earliest examples, among the English, of keeping
house there. His housekeeping was superintended by Mr Murphy,
whose learning won for him golden opinions among the cicerones.
The arts and their professors came in for a large share of his lord-
ship's attention, and several deserving English and some Italian ar-
tists were indebted to his bounty. He was of much service to Sir
William Chambers, whose means were then small, and his acquain-
tance few. We cannot here even enumerate the cardinals and dis-
tinguished noblemen of every rank and country with whom he made
acquaintance. Among1 these were the due de Nivernois, who was
the French ambassador at Rome, and the marquis of Rockingham, both
constant friends in after years. He was also treated with affectionate,
and almost parental kindness, by the reigning pope, Benedict XIV.

After leaving Rome, he revisited Turin and Florence, and made a
short excursion in Spain. He then travelled through France, where he
met with the same kindness as in the former places. We cannot now
afford more space to this portion of his history than a very brief notice
of his visit to the celebrated Montesquieu. This, too, we must, with
some regret, abridge. Not wishing to return home without meeting
so eminent a man, lord Charlemont and his friend, a Mr Elliott, having

164 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

arrived at Bourdeaux, wrote a joint letter to the president, expressive of
their desires, and received a kind invitation in reply. They reached
his villa next morning before he was up, having breakfasted on the
way. On entering his library they found Ovid's Elegies open on the
table, and, in the midst of their speculations on this discovery, the
president walked into the room, and presented a person quite different
from their expectations — a " gay, polite, sprightly Frenchman." A
walk was soon proposed to inspect the improvements of the villa,
which its owner had laid out after the English style of landscape
gardening. On this walk there occurred a characteristic scene, which
we shall present in the noble author's own words. " Following him into
thefarm,we soon arrived atthe skirts of abeautiful wood, cut into walks
and paled round, the entrance to which was barricadoed with a move-
able bar, about three feet high, fastened with a padlock. ' Come,'
said he, searching in his pocket, ' it is not worth our while to wait for
the key, you, I am sure, can leap as well as I can, and this shall not
stop me." So saying he ran at the bar, and fairly jumped over it;
while we followed him with amazement, though not without delight,
to see the philosopher likely to become our playfellow. This
behaviour had exactly the effect which he meant it should have.
He had observed our awkward timidity at his first accosting us,
and was determined to rid us of it." Among the incidents of the
subsequent conversation, M. Montesquieu related a very singular
trick which had, while he was in England, been played upon him by
the duke of Montagu. " Only think* of my first acquaintance with him,
having invited me to his country seat before I had leisure to get into
any sort of intimacy — he practised on me that singular trick which,
undoubtedly, you have either experienced or heard of, under the idea
of playing the play of introduction to ambassadors — he soused me over
head and ears in a tub of cold water. I thought it odd, to be sure,
but a traveller, as you well know, must take the world as it goes, &c."
They remained for three days — on their return to Bourdeaux they
were accompanied thither by the president's secretary, whom they
had, till then, taken to be a Frenchman, but now, to their surprise,
he for the first time addressed them in English, and turned out to be
an Irishman. They had, whether by design or accident, been thus
exposed to a snare which they were perhaps glad to have escaped;
and it was with a momentary sensation of an anxious nature, that they
endeavoured to recall the occasional remarks which they had ex-
changed under covert of a language which they thought only under-
stood by themselves. Montesquieu was at this time in his seventieth
year. In their subsequent meetings with him, at Bourdeaux, they
were no less astonished at his sprightly command of that species of
small talk which was then so acceptable to women, and to French
women in particular, than at his previous display of senile agility.
Lord Charlemont mentions several other interesting particulars, for
which we must be content to refer to Mr Hardy. Immediately after
these incidents M. Montesquieu fell ill and died.

In June, 1754, lord Charlemont returned to Ireland, having passed
upwards of eight years in foreign travel. He was, at this time, in
his twenty-sixth year, and had attained to the full maturity of his

; PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 1G5

character and understanding-, under that course of education most
suited to his frame of mind. Good sense, a fine and discriminating
sagacity, exercised by habitual observation, and the knowledge of men
and manners, as well as the tact and address which such a mind with
such accomplishments is nearly sure to attain, may be enumerated
among the main features of his character. These acquirements were
under the command of a moral temper, as pure from taint, and as lofty
and noble in all its tendencies, as perhaps has been, or will be, the lot of
mere humanity. Endowed with the most refined intellectual tastes, and
the most endearing social affections, — and, if ever the ambiguous virtue
of patriotism was unmixed with the base alloy of corrupt and selfish
motives, in the breast of a public man, it was in his. We thus distinctly
state our view of his character, because, from the point of his history
at which we are arrived, he is to occupy a very prominent place in
the history of Ireland, during its most busy and interesting period.
From this, our memoir is to be the historical narrative of the time in
which he was a leading actor on the public scene.

On his return he was created LL.D. ; appointed governor of the
county of Armagh ; and obtained a seat in the Irish privy council.

A slight account of the state of Ireland, at the outset of his political
life, will be here advantageous to preserve the historical chain of our
narrative.

From the last popular commotion in the time of Swift, to the period
now before us, there was a dull and torpid interval of public tran-
quillity. The Irish administration had, by art, influence, and the sub-
ordinate methods of intrigue, by the management of the public purse,
and by the dexterous adjustment and counterpoise of factious interests
gained and preserved an uncontested ascendancy in every department
of the legislature. Though this superiority was uninterrupted by any
public or ostensible outbreak of party, it was yet not maintained with-
out heavy cost, and unremitting, though under-hand exertion. The
great heads of the Irish aristocracy were haughty, turbulent of mood,
and conscious of their value; they were indispensable accessaries to the
policy of the castle, to be bought or flattered into compliance as the
case might require. The revenue of the country, raised to the utmost
limit of exaction, afforded the main fund for the support of this influ-
ence, and was freely lavished in pensions, and other methods of gratuity,
among the dependents of those whom it was necessary to conciliate.

Such resources would, nevertheless, have been insufficient, were there
not a multitude of private interests and prejudices which weighed upon
the same side. It cannot be denied, that the Irish aristocracy at this
time had long felt that their own influence and authority were inextri-
cably linked with the supremacy of the English party and government.
And while they preferred and cherished a purely native tenantry, as
by far the most submissive and profitable, yet it was as obvious an
expediency to keep them in that state in which they were most sub-
servient and open to extortion. Thus, on consideration, it will be
apparent that there was a considerable mass of conflicting motives at
work in the tendency of the time. The Irish people, scanty in number,
poor, and, to the lowest degree unimproved, were the submissive and
willing serfs and drudges of the soil. This statement ought, however,

166 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

to be qualified by a consideration of their very low place then in the
scale of civilization; — at that period they can only be considered as op-
pressed, insomuch that their improvement was totally unthought of.
The English population, on the other hand, were in point of educa-
tion, commercial advantage, and public spirit, more advanced and far
less manageable: they were more formidable, and more the subject of
a stringent and oppressive policy, under which they deeply murmured
and repined. As for that high ascendancy of the English and protest-
ant interests, of which a certain class of writers now so strongly speak,
it is uniformly misrepresented. Between the protestant and Roman par-
ties there was, of course, some opposition of feeling; in truth, such will
be created by any imaginable distinction ; but there was no animosity
nor anything which might deserve the name of any popular senti-
ment. It was the ascendancy of England over Ireland — of the local
and territorial interests of the one country over those of the other that
was the object of castle policy, and often of national contest. This
point is the more important to be set right, as there is not only injustice
but ingratitude in the confusion; in the great contest for national
rights and privileges, the battle of patriotism was fought and won
by the descendants of the settlers — it was the ascendancy itself that
supplied the strength and resolution which called up and imparted a
free spirit to the volunteers. They were not only Englishmen by
descent, but protestants by creed.

But, during this leaden interval, all had lain in silence under one
spiritless level of subjection. The parliament was merely nominal ; it
simply served to give an air of legality to enactments which were vir-
tually nothing less absolute than those edicts of the first Caesars, in
which the forms of the republic were preserved. The meetings of the
houses were but formal; prayers were read; leave was given for the
bishops to be covered ; and a motion of adjournment ended the
solemn farce. The return of a bill, from the English privy council,
was only some shades less potential than ihegrandis epistola from Capua.
By Poyning's law no bill could be passed until it was first approved by
the lord-lieutenant and the Irish council; from the castle it was trans-
mitted to the king in council, and. if approved of, it was returned back to
the castle; most probably altered in such a manner as to frustrate wholly
the original intent. It was then returned to the house — such at least
was then the construction of Poyning's law. In addition to this strange
mockery, the English commons, eager to enforce on Ireland certain
commercial restraints and disabilities, had, in direct contravention to
every law and treaty, and to the entire understanding between the two
countries, declared their right to make laws to bind Ireland. Such
a right was believed in by no one ; but it was not felt for a long time
to be worth disputing — nor can it be justly said, unless as a point of
national pride, that it was of any serious moment. If, by accident, a
spirited effort to contest the wishes of the administration, either by a
passing emotion of patriotic feeling, an impulse of justice — or as some-
time occurred where some partial interest broke the spiritless unani-
mity— the momentary storm soon blew over — the vote was sure to
decide for government. The members were returned by a few; the
common vice of the borough system had a substantial and extreme

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 167

existence in Ireland ; and the few strings which moved the whole were
in the hands of the king, or of his lieutenant. Men look to immediate
objects for the government of their actions. Those who were not per-
sonally engaged in trade, failed to reflect on advantages and disadvan-
tages which appeared but as the remote result of a circle of causes.
The Irish aristocracy preferred the influence they possessed with
government, with the added importance they gained by patronage and
power, to a prosperity which would so largely have reverted to
themselves.

From such unhappy causes it was, that for the better part of a
century, Ireland was excluded from all trade with the British colonies.
She was not allowed to export to English ports, those articles which
she was best enabled to raise — her cattle, and raw material of every de-
scription. To such an extent was the jealousy of the English graziers
excited, that a duty equivalent to a prohibition was laid upon the
importation of her wool.

The penal laws affecting the members of the church of Rome were
grievous, and, had they been enforced, intolerably severe. This
severity was, however, then totally unfelt; nor on this score was there
in fact any complaint: these statutes lay generally dormant, and unless
on one or two occasions of alarm, resulting from popular excitement,
were not even thought of. The statute of 1699 was, indeed, the
mere result of intrigue, and not even intended by any party. It was
projected by a faction, in the hope to make king William unpopular,
by compelling him to pass a bill conceived in so extreme a spirit
of severity, that it was deemed a matter of course that it should
be rejected in England. So paltry a stratagem was seen through
and retorted on the contrivers — the English counsellors of king
William added, as they considered, new absurdities, and sent them back
their bill, with leave to pass it. Both parties for some time continued
to play this wretched game, in which the strife was, not who should
have the infamy of passing, but who should incur the odium of reject-
ing it. The English court, as we learn from bishop Burnet, was
reluctant to be severe beyond what was deemed indispensable, and,
while it desired to avoid passing this enactment, at the same time fully
comprehended that they might experience much difficulty in obtaining
such a measure of coercion as was yet considered essential to the
peace of Ireland. They were not unwilling to throw the burthen of
passing this law on those whom they knew had no desire to bring in
any law upon the subject. And thus it was that, after being tossed
back and forward for some time, it was passed in the heat of party-
contest actually to the surprise of all. So far as it is here con-
sidered, there was a further consequence; this act, of 1699, was defi-
cient in several clauses necessary to give it practical operation. Its
application, so far as that extreme provision, which incapacitated the
popish heir, only gave a right of action to the protestant next of kin, of
which neither shame nor safety would permit any one to avail himself.
And if the next of kin stood aside, the right was not thereby transferred
further — his dormant claim was a security against every one else. In
cases of sudden excitements which awakened suspicion of the renewal
of the ancient plots among the papal communion, still not quite effaced

168 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

from the fears of the then living generation — some acts of personal
severity occurred in the panic of the moment, which would have most
probably occurred without any law. But these unhappy incidents
were not looked upon by any class as hard or severe, though afterwards
admirably serving the purpose of party rhetoric. Suspicions which
were not actually verified by any present occasion, were then thought to
be justified by the past. They were, at worst, incidental cases of severity ;
and the free spirit, to which they would have been shocking and intoler-
able, had no existence save in the breasts of a few. " The test," savs
Burnet, " relating to matters of doctrine and worship, did not seem a
proper ground for so great a severity; so this act was not followed,
nor executed in any sort." This act, as to its operation, was dormant;
and, though in a more advanced state of civil progress, it would have
been resented even for the insult alone ; no such sentiment could then
exist. At the time there was no public, at least no popular, discontent
on such grounds. Among the few Irish gentlemen \\jao were actuated
by any sense of public spirit, it was enumerated occasionally among
other subjects of grievance.

Such was the general condition of Irish politics in 1755, when
lord Charlemont came over; and the country was not merely in this
depressed and impoverished condition, but, by the necessary reaction
of such a state of things on human feeling, its interests were generally
regarded as of no importance, but by those whom they immediately
affected. As Swift wrote to Bolingbroke with a truth, which in our
times may only pass for wit, " the truth is, we never had leisure to
think of that country while we were in power:" the sentence carries a
reflection on the patriotism of Swift too severely true for the play of
fancy; and it may be generally applied to the patriotism of the gloomy
interval between the revolution and the date at which we have arrived.
The Irish patriot was only such for the ordinary purpose of opposi-
tion— the struggle for place or power, and the conflict of personal
interests.

The character of lord Charlemont was such as to awaken ready con-
fidence, both in his good sense and disinterestedness ; and an occasion
soon offered for the exercise of this influence. Mr Boyle, the speaker
of the House of Commons and primate Stone, had engaged in a trial of
strength; and, as the primate was one of the main supports of the Irish
government, the speaker took the side of opposition ; the question on
which they tried their rival strength related to a surplus of the Irish
revenue, amounting to £200,000, the right to dispose of which was
disputed betwen the crown and the Irish commons. The speaker was
possessed of talent, and of an influence in elections more extensive than
any other individual at that time possessed; his opposition was likely
to retard and embarrass the Irish government. The question which
was thus raised was warmly contested by the parties: it was carried in
opposition to government, by an ineffective resolution of the Irish com-
mons; the government applied the money according to its own discre-
tion. A conflict of such a nature, and conducted by such means, was
nevertheless highly embarrassing to the government; the right of taxa-
tion was one of those questions which there was on both sides of the
water, the utmost reluctance to have raised; the English government

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 169

had observed the utmost caution on the subject, for while the right of
taxation was asserted by them, they uniformly abstained from its ex-
ercise. The topic thus introduced by the speaker, was therefore, it will
be seen, in the higher degree embarrassing. The English ministry per-
ceived the difficulties to which they might be exposed — they feared the
opposition of the speaker, and they disliked the support of the pri-
mate. To extricate themselves, their first step was to send over the
marquess of Hartington, son to the duke of Devonshire. This noble-
man was highly popular in Ireland, where both the property of his
family and his personal qualifications were sure to give him weight
and influence. It was now thought necessary to adopt the expedient
of bringing the parties together, and to effect a personal reconciliation.
Lord Charlemont, who was related to the speaker, undertook this task,
and was successful. He effected the desired object, and, according to
Mr Hardy, " the wheels of government moved on as before."

Connected with this affair there was another negotiation to which he
had no privity; and which is only here to be stated for the impulse which
it seems to have imparted to his political sentiments, for the rest of his
life. A private treaty was entered upon between the refractory leaders
and the government, by which it was agreed, that the primate was to
have his share of power, " though not at that time, yet at no distant
period;" and, that Mr Boyle, the speaker, should have the rank and title
of an earl, with £3000 a-year for thirty-one years. On these occurrences
lord Charlemont's reflections are quoted by his biographer — we think
them characteristic — " and this was the first instance that occurred
to me among many thousands to which I was afterwards witness, that
the mask of patriotism is often assumed to disguise self-interest and
ambition; and that the paths of violent opposition are too frequently
trod, as the nearest and surest road to office and emolument."*

The question which had been brought forward from motives such
as are thus described, had really all the importance attributed to
it by the government; and is not without much reason looked on
as the first impulse which gave motion to a popular spirit, which had,
till then, lain asleep. The process by which such incidents may have an
operation very disproportionate in magnitude to their apparent origin,
is well known, and we have at some length dwelt upon it in our prefa-
tory chapter.]' A period of tranquillity, under circumstances seemingly
the least favourable, will yet be productive of the irrepressible and
ever-springing tendencies of progress. For two generations of political
torpor, the population was increasing, and ideas were, however slowly,
making their way downward. The gentry and the mercantile classes,
which in reality constituted the public, were likewise advanced in
wealth, the arts of life, intelligence, and numbers. A growing sense
of self-assertion grew with their strength; and had there been a sa-
gacious eye to mark the indications of public feeling and opinion —
which is seldom heeded until it starts into some attitude of strength —
it would have been discerned that there were elements afloat, and
moving into states of combination, which only wanted the impulse to
become agents of revolutionary movement.

* Hardy's Life, <tc., p. 49. t Introduction, pp. 112, 113.

170 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

And thus it was, as has been often remarked by several who lived and
wrote in that period, that the contest between Mr Boyle the speaker
and primate Stone, awakened a spirit that never again subsided until
it manifested itself in the most remarkable events and acts of our his-
tory. It was not, it is well observed by Mr Hardy, a mere commotion of
the populace, like those tumultuary excitements, caused by the Drapier's
Letters ; but it was an open, full, and spirited discussion which burst in
upon the torpor of the Irish parliament, like a breeze upon a stagnant
sea, which awakes the billows of its power, and disturbs the reptiles
which float upon its torpid level. The patriotism of some was excited,
— the indignation and sense of wrong of many ; such discussions, never
confined to the speakers, or to the walls of parliament, ran through all
the circles of connexion and dependency ; and the spirit of controversy
was widely roused upon a question more nearly affecting the pride than
the purses of the public. The well-oiled wheels of government went
on smoothly when restored to their wonted motion in the customary
channels; but an impulse was propagated onward into futurity. We
shall presently come to the first serious indication of the latent power
thus awakened.

Lord Hartington became duke of Devonshire by the death of his
father. In 1756, he left the government of Ireland, and was succeeded
by John, duke of Bedford. He had always preserved the most kindly
intercourse with lord Charlemont, and, without any solicitation, had pre-
sented his brother with a cornetcy of dragoons — the only favour which
lord Charlemont ever received from the castle, to which any emolu-
ment was attached. By this nobleman lord Charlemont's high and in-
dependent spirit was appreciated fully but justly — he was looked upon
as one from whom opposition was as a matter of course to be anticipated.
He still preserved the respect due to his rank and character ; though
ready to resist the government, he cared not to court the people, and
was no more to be bribed from his sense of right, by low adulation,
than by flattery in high places, — a distinction in his case, the more to
be insisted upon, because the man who pursues a popular course, at the
dictate of the most genuine sense of duty or love of his country, can
hardly escape the imputation of having looked for the popularity which
he is likely to win.

In the latter end of the reign of queen Anne, there had been some
attempts on the part of the English house of peers to interfere with
the judicial privileges of the Irish peers, who, on their part, resisted
the encroachment by resolutions. But soon after the accession of
George I., a more decided course was adopted by the English parlia-
ment, which brought in a bill to maintain the dependence of Ireland
upon the British crown, in which the Irish lords were deprived of
their judicature as a court of appeal ; and the English parliament
was expressly declared competent to legislate for Ireland. This was
universally and deeply felt by every Irish gentleman, not actually in the
pay of government, to be a heavy insult and grievance ; but the spirit
to resist was wanting; such sentiments were yet isolated in the breast
of individuals, and it was evident to ordinary discretion, that it was
unsafe to bring on questions which are sure to bring only a con-
firmation of wrong, and a firmer rivetting of restraints.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 171

As a peer, lord Charlemont entertained a deep and impatient sense
of this injustice to his country, and insult to his order; and, while yet
a very young man, and not perhaps withheld by any very prudential
forecast, he determined to bring it to the test. No one considered the
English statute, — which really begged the question of right — to be in
the least binding ; its validity was evidently involved in the question it
pretended to settle; and every one understands how much more keenly
the sense of wrong is felt when the sense of reason is at the same time
offended. Lord Charlemont came to a resolution, either by a real or
fictitious suit, to bring this question of jurisdiction before the legisla-
ture; and, there is little doubt but the Irish lords would have found
such an appeal very embarrassing, although it is as certain that they
would have found reasons far more influential on the other side: it
was therefore so far fortunate at the time, that a fit of illness, fol-
lowed by a long interval of very delicate health, interfered. " When
more advanced in years," says Mr Hardy, " he used to speak of
this illness rather as a fortunate one ; for the house of lords, as
he discovered, would not have entertained his suit." We must, how-
ever, say, that we have some doubts on this point: the commons
were not quite asleep — though, it must be allowed, not far from it
— questions of less moment had been found to rouse their spirit,
and the lords would have hesitated finally to admit, that they were
bound by a statute of the English parliament. But the hour of trial
was not yet come. " Neither Grattan nor Flood were then in parlia-
ment, nor if they were, would parliament have encouraged them. My
splendid, but boyish scheme, fell therefore to the ground," was the
comment of his lordship in later times. The illness, which is men-
tioned by his lordship, was probably the same which he experienced
in 1757, and which invalided him until 1760: his recovery he attri-
buted to the skill and attention of Lucas.

With the duke of Bedford, lord Charlemont maintained a courteous
and even cordial acquaintance, though not the same friendly intimacy
which had subsisted between him and lord Hartington. The duke
was zealous in preserving the English interest, and at first — acting
under that ignorance of Irish affairs, which has always, but chiefly then,
characterized the English councils — he was more uncompromising in
trifles than he afterwards became, when a native sense of justice tem-
pered his conduct, and induced him to take more comprehensive and
liberal views of the rights of the people than had previously been
adopted.

Among the earliest acts of the duke of Bedford, there was one
which was very much adapted to raise unfavourable anticipations in
Ireland. In the first year of his administration, on the 1 st of Novem-
ber, a resolution was passed by the commons that " the pensions and
salaries placed on the civil establishment in Ireland, since the 23d of
March, 1755, amounted to the annual sum of £28,103; that several of
such pensions were granted for long and unusual terms, and several
to persons not resident in the kingdom; that granting so much of the
public revenue in pensions was an improvident disposition of the re-
venue, an injury to the crown, and detrimental to the kingdom." It
was ordered that the house should wait upon the lord-lieutenant, and

172 POLITICAL SERIES. [ FIFTH

request that his excellency would transmit this resolution to the king.
The duke demurred, and said he could not at once determine the pro-
priety of acceding. Two days after, the house resolved " that all or-
ders should be adjourned until the house should receive an answer
from the lord-lieutenant." At this decided step, the secretary (Mr
Rigby) was alarmed, and next day brought a message from the duke
that the resolution of the 1st Nov. should be transmitted forthwith.
Such facts, while they may help to illustrate the effect of extreme and
hasty counsels, also show the existence of a formidable element of re-
sistance, which cannot be too far seen and computed by statesmen. But
such a concession was itself of deep importance in giving added im-
pulse to the under-tone of nationality which compelled it. The duke
of Bedford acted under the influence of the primate and Mr Rigby ;
to these, at least, his policy was attributed by lord Charlemont; his
character has been exalted by praise which may well outweigh
volumes of factious sarcasm; but the reader will perhaps recollect the
terrific scalping of Junius, in his letter " To the duke of Bedford,"
some years after the time at which he now appears before us. Mr
Rigby's name will also bring to remembrance some sentences that are
not easily forgotten. Rigby was well known for his convivial talents,
and was perhaps more honourably appreciated in the circles of Irish
hospitality than as a servant of the administration. But it need not
be said that there was a very wide distinction between the govern-
ment politics in the two countries, and that an enlightened English
nobleman, whatever were his party views, could not fail quickly to
discern that the policy maintained towards Ireland was not in unison
with the principles of any existing party or creed; there was not
in England; there was not even in Ireland, any class of men whose
views were then identified with the Irish privy council. He could
not fail to discover a fact — since too little observed in the obscurity of
that time, and in the heat of subsequent animosities — that the stern
policy of the Irish government was the counsel of a small knot of
powerful individuals. Though the recollections of history unquestion-
ably were such as to suggest fears from the papal church in Ireland,
as elsewhere ; yet, practically, no prepossession then prevailed, to any
extent, against them. Nor were their numbers, wealth, or importance,
at the time, such as to work on the fears or animosities of any but a
few, whose immediate interests involved some such sentiment. We
are not here questioning the foundation for such sentiments, had they
existed to any extent, but simply stating the fact, that the English
population, or, more properly speaking, the protestant population in
Ireland, were full of the most kindly sympathies toward their Romish
brethren, and that there was a universal abhorrence against the
iniquitous policy of the statutes which we have already noticed in the
foregoing narrative. Of course, it must be understood that a power-
ful faction, however small in number, must be surrounded by a cloud
of partisans, composed of those who are ignorant, those who are paid,
and those whose private interests are concerned.

The duke was generally considered as actuated by the most unfa-
vourable impressions; his peculiar politics, and the hereditary bias
which Irishmen are so liable to feel and to impute, were considered by

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 173

the popular party in Ireland as boding no good. " Greatly," says Mr
Hardy, " were such persons disappointed in the conduct of the duke
of Bedford; and equally, though agreeably, disappointed were the
catholics, in feeling the first rays of a more expanded protection
beam on them from a quarter where they least expected it." On
this Mr Hardy applies Virgil's lines —

" Via prima salutis,
Quod minime reris, Graia pandetur ab urbe."

Mr Hardy, were he now alive, might easily find in recent events far
more striking applications for the same quotation. We are not,
nevertheless, quite sure of the propriety of its application to an Eng-
lish whig nobleman, even though lord-lieutenant of Ireland.

There was during the duke of Bedford's administration a very pre-
valent rumour of a legislative union between Great Britain and Ire-
land, though it does not very plainly appear from what quarter it
proceeded. Mr Hardy conjectures that it arose from some convivial
suggestion of Mr Rigby, who indulged much in social intercourse; and,
from the constitution of town society at that period, such a hint, he
supposes, would quickly spread. It is not improbable that it was a
feeler — a straw thrown upon the wind of rumour; if so the indication
was not doubtful, as great murmurs of discontent generally agitated
the town ; and the matter was presently forgotten.

We do not think it necessary to dwell at any length upon an event
which occurred at this time, and created something of more serious
alarm — the landing of 600 French in Carrickfergus bay. A more
serious invasion was notoriously intended, but the victory of lord
Hawke intercepted a squadron, which, with 18,000 men, had been
destined for this expedition. Three frigates, however, entered that
bay on the 21st Feb., 1760. There cannot be attached any very se-
rious importance, under any circumstances, to so small a force landed
in the North; but the little mischief they might have effected was pre-
vented by the folly of the gentleman who commanded the expedition.
His second in command, M. Thurot, a clever officer, who knew the
country well, proposed a rapid descent upon Belfast; but M. Flobert, a
disciple of the old school, could not conceive the propriety of leaving
behind them a fortified city like Carrickfergus. The garrison was on
parade, and there seems — notwithstanding a notice sent from the castle,
of the probable expectation of such an event — to have been no kind
of preparation: the officer on duty and his men thought the vessels to
be English, and twelve boats were seen conveying armed men to Kil-
root point before they guessed the truth. The French landed, and, with
their usual expertness, availed themselves of hedge and ditch to ad-
vance securely. The commandant was, in the mean time, apprized of
the circumstances, and the gates and avenues were guarded. The
French came on and were received with a fire, which checked their
advance, from a company which was advantageously posted for the pur-
pose while they had been advancing. These had, however, but a few
rounds of ammunition, which were expended in the first discharges, and
they retired before the French, into the town. The French attacked
both the north and south gates, and a warm fire continued for some

174 POLITICAL SERIES. [FliTH

time. Between the two fires the gates were battered open ; the garri-
son, too, had spent their store of ball, and when the firing slackened, the
French attacked the gates sword in hand. They were here, however,
repulsed after a very severe but rather tumultuary struggle, in which
their opponents mainly consisted of the gentlemen of the town, and a few
of the people, with colonel Jennings, lord Wallingford, captain Bland,
lieutenant Ellis. In this struggle sticks and stones were not the least
effective weapons; and this small party fought with such desperate
zeal that the French, with all their cool discipline, were compelled to
retire from the gate. The gate stood open with its brave defenders in
front outside. They now consulted ; a sally was urged — we presume
by the townsmen — but colonel Jennings saw the hopelessness of resist-
ance with his small garrison, destitute as they were of ammunition — the
gates not tenable, and a breach of fifty paces in the wall: a parley was
beaten, and verbal articles easily agreed upon. The garrison was
permitted to march out with the honours of war. The castle was to
receive no injury, and the city was not to be injured or plundered.
In the mean time the alarm was diffused, and M. Thurot who perfectly
understood the danger of remaining until a force could be collected,
embarked and put to sea, leaving behind M. Flobert and a few men,
who were too severely wounded for removal.*

On the very first intimation of these occurrences, Lord Charlemont,
•who was governor of Antrim, hurried off to his post, but was only time
enough to receive those who had remained as prisoners. And it is
mentioned by Mr Hardy that the French expressed great delight on
meeting a person to whom they could express their distresses in their
own language. He entered with his wonted humanity into their
grievances, and obtained for them accommodations which they could not
otherwise have had any hope of. M. Flobert is described as a man of
strange character; he obtained leave to go to London, and requested
permission to accompany lord Charlemont, who readily consented.
M. Thurot had scarcely put to sea when he was intercepted by cap-
tain Elliot of H. M. ship ./Eolus, with two other ships, the Pallas and
the Brilliant, which had for some days watched his movements, but
were prevented by weather from entering the bay. An engage-
ment ensued, and, after an hour and a half, the French vessels struck
their colours. The entire force of every description in the captured
vessels amounted to 1245, of which perhaps 800 may have been mili-
tary.

The fact which most deserves the reader's attention in this, other-
wise not very consequential event, is the general zeal shown by
every class of the northern public ; a universal spirit of resistance
called up large bodies of the peasantry, armed as chance directed,
and, had the exigency required, there can be little doubt that a for-
midable force must have been speedily assembled by the magistrates
and country gentlemen, even though the government had been remiss.
It was, most probably, the evidence of hostility thus shown that mainly
induced the French to retire. In the first project of the expedition
there can be little doubt that a reliance on the old and well-known

* Official letter by major-general Strode.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 1 75

disaffection of the peasantry had been an element of the calculation.
Thurot, though compelled (it is asserted) to put in by stress of
•weather, must, nevertheless, when he presumed to land, have calcu-
lated on the same consideration. But memorably different, indeed,
was the result, and we have thought proper here to call attention to
it as the early indication of the same spirit, which, from the same
place, was, in a few years more, to produce results of a nature so
critical in the fortunes of the nation. Lord Charlemont has himself
left an interesting account of what he witnessed on his arrival in
Belfast — we give this as extracted by Mr Hardy from his lordship's
private papers. " The appearance of the peasantry who had thronged
to its defence [the city of Belfast] many of whom were my own
tenants, was singular and formidable. They were drawn up in regu-
lar bodies, each with its own chosen officers, and formed in martial
array; some few with old firelocks, but the greater number armed
with what is called in Scotland the Lochaber axe — a scythe fixed lon-
gitudinally to the end of a long pole — a desperate weapon, and which
they would have made a desperate use of. Thousands were assem-
bled in a small circuit ; but these thousands were so thoroughly im-
pressed with the necessity of regularity, that the town was perfectly
undisturbed by tumult, by riot, or even by drunkenness."

In 1 760, the duke of Bedford returned to England, and on the 1 2th
of October, in the same year, George II. died; and a new reign pro-
perly commences this present division of our history.

The duke was succeeded by lord Halifax. With him, as secretary,
came over the celebrated William Gerrard Hamilton, of whom we
shall hereafter, when writing the life of Edmund Burke, offer some
notice. Lord Charlemont first introduced Burke to his acquaintance,
an incident to which Mr Hardy attributes Mr Burke's subsequent
rise — on this, too, we have some remarks to make in due season.

The marriage of George III. was the next event which brings
lord Charlemont conspicuously and most honourably forward. Many
of the Irish peeresses who were in town had prepared to walk in their
order at the royal nuptials, when, to their surprise, they received a
notification from the duchess of Bedford to apprize them that they
were to be excluded from the entire ceremonial. This most unne-
cessary insult could not be tacitly endured by the ladies of Ireland;
and, according to Mr Hardy, they applied to lord Charlemont, — a
compliment, than which a higher cannot well be imagined. Their
selection was, indeed, sagacious, and well approved by his conduct on
the occasion. With the prompt spirit which marks every portion of
his life, he zealously entered into the insulted feelings of his fair
countrywomen, and went the round of the Irish peerage then in town,
to rouse their sense of shame, and obtain the advantage of their con-
cert and influence, in a matter nearly concerning their honour. His
mission was so far vain, and he had doubtless to accuse himself of
"moving such a dish of skimmed milk to so honourable an action;"
in more instances than one. It is, indeed, hard to avoid thinking that
Mr Hardy may have had very inadequate information: the habitual
subserviency of the Irish peerage of that day is hardly sufficient to
account for so abject a renunciation of a right, which it was not very

176 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

just even to allow to depend on court precedent. No etiquette should,
for a moment, be tolerated in the decision of a question which ought
to have been felt to involve the real relation between the king and
his Irish peerage. Lord Charlemont, after encountering the pain and
the disgust of this recreant exhibition, at last found an ally in the
lord Middleton.* With this, nobleman he visited lord Halifax at his
seat in Bushy-park, and stated the matter to his lordship. This no-
bleman, whose proper duty it should have been to interfere as lord-
lieutenant of Ireland, gave a courteous reception to their statement,
and immediately waited on the king, to whom he submitted the claim
of the Irish ladies. The king could only have met such a statement
in one way, and entered at once with the natural grace and kind-
ness of his disposition into their feelings. It was answered, in conse-
quence, to lord Charlemont, that a privy council was to sit on the next
day, which should consider the claim which he advanced, and he was
desired to have precedents in readiness for their consideration. Here
again rose a most serious embarrassment; about precedents he knew
nothing, and had no more than a few hours to make the necessary
inquiries; the remainder of the day was spent in vain deliberation,
but late at night (as we conjecture from Mr Hardy's statement) he
fortunately recollected lord Egmont, then well known for his inti-
macy with heraldic lore.f It may be presumed that it was after a
restless night that he knocked early next morning at that lord's door,
and was introduced into his chamber before he had as yet risen from
his bed. Happily, lord Egmont was full and satisfactory upon the
subject of his inquiries, and undertook to furnish the required prece-
dents in writing, which he did on the spot. These were instantly for-
warded to lord Halifax, by whom they were submitted to the council,
and excited an angry opposition, which may help to show the con-
tempt which at that time lay upon Ireland. It is not easy to say with
certainty what might have been the decision of a cabinet council, in
which so pertinacious an opposition was exerted, but king George
acted with the equitable decision for which the occasion evidently
called, and cut short the paltry conflict of the lowest display which
human pride admits of, by ordering that the Irish nobility should
walk according to their ranks at the ceremonial. To complete the
service thus rendered to his countrywomen, and, through them, to
Ireland, and, as it must easily appear, to the two kingdoms, lord
Charlemont exerted himself to prevail on many of the Irish nobility
to take the places thus confirmed to them, and then took due care to
have their names inserted in the ceremonial.

During the administration of lord Halifax, commenced those popu-
lar factions, the Whiteboys, Hearts of Oak, &c., Avith which the pro-
gress of Ireland has, until very recent times, been so fatally encum-
bered. In the previous course of history for several hundred years,
the political disturbances of Ireland had assumed the pretext of re-
ligion. But at this time the main causes of popular discontent were

Cork.

George Brodrick, 3d viscount Middleton of Middleton, in the county of
t Lord Egmont had written a look on the rights of the Irish Peerage.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 177

of a kind far more adapted to come home to the peasant's bosom ; the
tyranny and selfishness of the landlords appeared in the most shameful
extortion. The origin of the Whiteboys is thus explained: — In Mun-
ster, several of the landlords having set their lands at an exorbitant
rent, endeavoured to conciliate the tenants by allowing them the com-
monage of certain waste lands. They afterwards enclosed these lands.
The people had recourse to violence. As the nature of such violence
is to accumulate force and fury, extensive outrages were committed.
The gentry, unable to suppress the spirit they had raised, had the dex-
terity to give it a safe direction. When the rabble were once organ-
ized, and a system of outrage began, the sectarian zeal, which is never
far behind when mobs are congregated from any cause, was easily turned
upon the protestant clergy. The landlords themselves, as ready to op-
press the clergy as the people, gladly seized on the pretext, which helped
both to raise a prejudice against the ministers of a religion which they
professed to follow, and which helped to conceal the real causes. The
Whiteboys were suppressed ; but neither was the cause removed, nor the
angry spirit calmed. Other disturbances arose in the north. The roads
were made and kept in repair by the housekeepers — the labour of six
days in the year was exacted from man and horse — and a general
complaint, mainly excited by the severity of overseers, at last broke
out in violence. The peasantry had been additionally exasperated by
the common feeling that those roads were not generally for the public
convenience, but more generally for the convenience of the landlords:
they were called job roads. One parish openly refused to make any
more ; the contagion spread, and soon extended over the province.
Having commenced in real grievances, with the ordinary rapidity of
popular passion they soon went on to imaginary complaints, and the
general redress of wrongs. The tithes next, and then, in due course,
the rents, became the object of their wisdom. A little bloodshed sup-
pressed the north, as it had done the south. The northern discontents
had, nevertheless, arisen on grounds less obnoxious to landlords, and
they were taken into consideration in the ensuing session of parlia-
ment. The old act was repealed, and, by a more equal burthen, a
new provision made for the roads.

In the course of the next few years, other similar risings took place.
Those which we have here more especially noticed, are now chiefly
important to impress the consideration so apt to be overlooked in the
two opposite aspects of Irish party feeling; first, that the general ten-
dency to popular insubordination, manifested on various occasions,
from the time of which we speak to far more recent periods, were
essentially unconnected with religious feeling; while, at the same time,
they generally assumed that character to a sufficient extent to justify
the prejudices, which, connecting present and past events, assigned
them the character they took upon themselves. The wisdom of party
is not responsible for nice distinctions. When a popular faction, or
its advocates, assume a character for their purposes, they lose the
right of coming into court and pleading that such was not their char-
acter.

These statements may help to set in a clear light the opinions which
were then unfavourable to the Roman church in this country. It may

VOL. v. M

178 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

be understood why a class, looking with an indiscriminate eye on the
past, saw only the dangerous organization under the influence of a
foreign cabinet, so often ostentatiously pretended, and so often effec-
tively manifested in former days. And also, why even the utmost ex-
tent of liberality went no further than the wish to ease the upper ranks
of that church from the pressure of a law at once insulting, incon-
venient, and ineffective for any of its intended purposes. It may thus
be understood how it was that the well-known liberality of lord Charle-
mont went no further than this limited view, while he considered it
impolitic in any way to relax the laws which excluded the same classes
from those professions which were the only resources for the younger
sons of the gentry. The general consequence was, that the only
resource left for them was foreign service ; and of this the evil conse-
quences had, in the previous century, been made very apparent by the
rebellion of Sir Phelim O'Neale, which, as we have already related,
was mainly organized abroad, and, in the first instance, carried into
effect by Irishmen trained in the Spanish service. These consider-
ations were now taken by the wrong end. The remedy of such an
evil, supposing it still to have existence, would appear to be most
effectively sought in the redress of the grievance of which it was the
necessary result; but a different view seems to have presented itself to
the government. An application was made by the Portuguese govern-
ment for aid from England. The plan was formed to allow six Irish
regiments to be raised and taken into the Portuguese service. It
•was proposed by secretary Hamilton, in that celebrated speech which
has acquired for its speaker the title of " single-speeched," and thus
carried down to posterity the impression that he never spoke but
once.* The measure was strongly opposed, on the ground of the
danger which, it was alleged, must arise from the arming and train-
ing so large a number of the members of the papal church. The
motion failed. It may help to elucidate the position which we are
anxious to place in the fullest force, — that there was a weight of
old prepossession still adding its effective weight to other causes,
which have been too hastily, and somewhat invidiously, placed alone
in the discussion of ancient grievances. Condemning with our whole
force all intolerance and political exclusiveness, on every abstract
ground, we shall, at every stage of our history, not fail to mark out
the distinctions which are confused by party, for purposes which
cannot be justified. Up to a certain point, (now easy to fix with some
accuracy,) the exclusion from political power of a large class, can
be demonstrated as absolutely essential, on every ground which is
available for the proof of any political right. That the general pre-
possession which grew out of such a state of things will necessarily
long survive the necessity from which it originated, is a proposition
as deeply founded in human nature, as the former in sound political
theory, need not be proved. The sentiment existing at that period
in favour of protestant ascendancy, so far from being liable to the
ignorant aspersion of modern partisans, was then as fixed in the

* " Never," says Mr Hardy, " had such an oration been uttered within those
walls."

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 179

reason of the age as any law of nature. It was sternly held by the
most liberal politicians who had any pretension to honesty or mode-
ration, and was even admitted by the more informed and better ranks
of that class, upon whom it fell with such apparent severity. We
have lingered a little in our narrative at this point, that we may
express our views freely on the subject of liberty and toleration,
without being supposed by any reader to have adopted the fallacies
or extreme notions of that liberalist faction, with whose language
and sentiments we must often for the future be found partially coinci-
dent. And we must entreat to have it kept in view, that in such cases
'the only resource we have against the appearance of inconsistency, is
in those comprehensive distinctions which vindicate the fact, that we
are endeavouring to steer as free as we can between both of the great
public parties who have engaged on the same field. We shall here
quote a sentence written by lord Charlernont — not that we agree with
its whole purport, but because it exhibits the real opinion of his age,
free from every stain of private interest or factious tendency — " The
situation of the catholic gentry of Ireland was at this time truly de-
plorable. The hostile statutes enacted against them, however their
necessity may have ceased, were still unrepealed, and respecting devise
and inheritance, they laboured under the greatest hardships. In time,
however, it might be hoped that these difficulties would be palliated,
or perhaps removed; but they were subject to one inconvenience,
which seemed to be so interwoven with the existence of a protestant
interest and government, that sound policy, and, indeed, necessity,
must for ever prevent its being remedied." Here, then, is the whole
liberal creed of that day, in its length and breadth, and in its most
respectable form.

The immediate interval of Irish history, on which we have hitherto
been led to dwell, is that which historians have generally seen reason
to pass with slight notice, as deficient in interest, and not marked by
important events. From such an estimate we see no great reason to
dissent; we have, nevertheless, selected some details, with a view to
convey some distinct notion of the calm, or perhaps torpor, which
preceded a period unparalleled for the interest and rapid succession of
the passions by which it was agitated, and the events it brought forth.
Within the stagnant interval thus described, one event occurred, which
may be regarded as the beginning of another order of things, and as
the first step of a revolution, the greatest which happened in the for-
tunes of Ireland from the invasion of Strongbow. To this we shall
at once pass.

From time to time, as has appeared, ineffectual efforts were made
to remedy the main defects in the legal constitution of Ireland. They
were always defeated with uniform facility by the vigilance of the
Irish administration. The enormous pension-list was a standing sub-
ject of complaint — the independence of the judges was another pri-
mary object of vain contest — and, in 1765, this latter subject was in-
troduced with increased spirit, but with the old result. It was felt
that the opposition was rather gaining, than losing ground in the
contest for objects to which, after every disappointment, they still
more pertinaciously returned. It was also probably regarded as no

180 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

unimportant advantage, that at this period two of their most formi-
dable antagonists were removed from the scene. The Irish adminis-
tration was deprived of the ability of two consummate managers of
party — primate Stone and lord Shannon — who both died in Decem-
ber, 1764.

Till this time the Irish commons held their seats for the life of the
king — an extreme from which the unconstitutional influence of the
crown was an immediate and evident consequence. It amounted vir-
tually to an entire separation of interest between the representation
and the people. In proportion as the constituency began to obtain a
real existence, such an evil would also grow into increased effect, and
begin to be more and more felt: and such an indication of political
vitality at this time was beginning to grow very apparent and very trou-
blesome to the government. Of all measures that could well be con-
ceived, the limitation of parliaments would strike most directly and
closely at the root of corrupt power. In 1765, under the adminis-
tration of lord Hertford, there was much activity displayed by county
meetings through the kingdom, in which numerous resolutions and
addresses to this effect were carried. In Dublin, a meeting of the
citizens published a declaration, and instructed the city members to
unite in this paramount and fundamental effort.

The history of this important and influential measure is curious, as
related in some detail by the earl of Charlemont. Some doubts have
been expressed as to these details, but we do not participate in these
doubts, and shall notice here some incidents of a preliminary nature,
which may have contributed much to the events which followed; so
much, indeed, that they might well seem (what we would not abso-
lutely affirm) to be the consistent parts of the same manoeuvre. Pro-
vidence worked favourably fo» Ireland. In the previous year the
Irish commons had shown a very unusual degree of jealousy on the
right of altering their bills, assumed by the British council; they
had entered into a resolution that no bill should pass in their house
until a committee appointed for that purpose should first have com-
pared the bill returned with the original heads, and report if there were
any, and what alterations. Again, acting on this resolution, with a
pertinacity which did not spare even their own most anxious wishes,
in 1767, after they had prepared and transmitted the heads of a most
important bill to secure the independence of the judges, when it was
returned they rejected it after such a comparison. It is therefore, on
viewing these premises, very strongly apparent that their conduct,
under almost any circumstances, would be counted on with some con-
fidence by the British privy council ; and, farther, it is also apparent
that, if the British cabinet really desired to pass any measure through
the Irish commons, that they would have taken due care not to raise
so visible an obstacle to their success. Respecting the particular
measure here under consideration, it was generally understood that a
majority of the Irish members themselves had no great desire for a
measure, which, being in a very high degree popular, was in a manner
forced upon them from without. With these unfavourable dispositions
on both sides, we shall now state the account given in Mr Hardy's
narration.

PKRIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEiMONT. 181

The measure of abridging the duration of parliaments having been
ineffectually and insincerely entertained, first, in 1761, was now,
in 1767, under the administration of lord Townshend, taken up with
more earnestness. The commons had been sorely pressed with the
reproaches of the people ; and, galled by numerous writings and public
discussions, calculated to render them unpopular, they now once more
took up the question, and transmitted the heads of a bill for the limi-
tation of parliament to seven years. The privy council, actuated by
what motives the reader may infer, changed it to eight years, and
returned it so changed to Ireland. Contrary to the general expec-
tation, and to the consternation of many, it passed. It was still hoped
that it would be cashiered in the Irish privy council ; and it is apparent
that some such design was entertained. The bill was detained for
two sessions ; but the facts had transpired, and were become known
to the public, and the clamour was long, loud, and irresistible. The
rest may be conveyed in a story told by lord Charlemont. " He
happened," writes Mr Hardy, " to dine with one of the great parlia-
mentary leaders; a large company, and, as Bubb Doddington says of
some of his dinners with the Pelhams, ' much drink and much good
humour.' " In the midst of this festivity the papers and letters of the
last English packet, which had just come in, were brought into the
room, and given to the master of the house. Scarcely had he read
one or two of them when it appeared that he was extremely agitated.
The company was alarmed. " What's the matter? Nothing, we

hope, has happened that " " Happened!" exclaimed their kind

host, swearing most piteously. "Happened! the septennial bill is re-
turned." A burst of joy from lord Charlemont and the very few real
friends of the bill who happened to be present. The majority of the
company, confused, and, indeed, almost astounded, began, after the
first involuntary dejection of their features, to recollect that they had
openly, session after session, voted for this bill, with many an internal
curse, Heaven knows! But still they had uniformly been its loudest
advocates; and that, therefore, it would be somewhat decorous not to
appear too much cast down at their own unexpected triumphs. In
consequence of these politic reflections, they endeavoured to adjust
their looks to the joyous occasion as well as they could. But they
were soon spared the labour of assumed felicity. " The bill is not only
returned," continued their chieftain, " but the parliament is dissolved."
"Dissolved, dissolved! why dissolved?" "My good friends, I can't
tell you why or wherefore; but dissolved it is, or will be directly." —
" Hypocrisy," says Mr H., " could lend its aid no further," and a sullen
taciturnity fell upon the board. Taking advantage of this blank
moment, lord Charlemont withdrew from the group, " than which, a
more ridiculous, rueful set of personages, in his life, he said, he never
beheld."

The English government must have strongly felt the necessity of shak-
ing off the grasping and encumbering influence of this class of persons, so
well described in the foregoing extract, and their patrons the borough-
mongers, by whose means they had hitherto ruled the country. Hard
to be kept in order, at a mighty cost, and impossible to satisfy, it was
now for some time beginning to be felt that they were becoming yearly

182 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

less efficient in the work for which they were courted, flattered, and
paid. A national spirit had been springing- up around them, and they
had not only been compelled to give way, but it was also felt that the
disgrace and unpopularity of their characters, their tyranny and uncon-
stitutional conduct, were reflected upon the administration which had
recourse to such an unworthy instrumentality. From time to time,
men of ability and spirit stood up to expose the system and its effects,
with so much force and fulness as no underhand game of venality and
deception could long continue to endure ; and, if Ireland were for a few-
years longer to submit, yet such resources were not fit to be sported in
the light of full and public exposure. The clouds and shadows of dawn
were melting away during the advance of morn, and the night-haunt-
ing crew, with their deeds of darkness, could not much longer affront
the daylight with impunity. The English government had no desire
for the independence of parliament ; but, far more anxious to unfetter
themselves from the loathsome arms of that prostitute influence by
which they were at the same time upheld, controlled, impoverished,
and debased, they made their election, and secured for Ireland the
first great step of political revival.

To trace out the few events which intervened between this and the
great events of 1777, will not occupy many paragraphs. But we may
observe here, that the vast expansion of the popular spirit in Ireland
was fully shown by the reception of the octennial bill. It awakened a
frenzy of delight; and the lord-lieutenant's carriage was drawn by the
citizens, when he returned from the house, after giving the royal assent
to it.

The parliament was dissolved, but a new parliament was not to meet
for sixteen months, which time was considered necessary, to enable lord
Townshend to complete his arrangements, by detaching the new mem-
bers from their patrons. This important undertaking, of which the result
was to be eventually of far different importance than was anticipated
by any one, was to be effected by the most enormous corruption. The
great boroughmongers could be secured by the various resources
within the ordinary disposal of every administration. The subalterns
were to be purchased at a ready-money sacrifice. The success was
very considerable, but not entire, when the parliament was next assem-
bled, in 1769. They had included in their drag-net some intractable
and dangerous fishes.

A money bill, not originating in the commons, was thrown out un-
ceremoniously. This defeat caused sensible mortification, and the more,
as the popular party was joined by many of the castle retainers, who had
in their bargain reserved to themselves some latitude. This resistance of
the house of commons is the more remarkable, as it is the first instance,
for nearly eighty years previous, on which they had manifested any de-
termined spirit on the subject of money bills. An English journal, of
a popular character, animadverted upon it in terms which strongly
manifest the surprise it must have given, and the low idea of Ireland
then entertained in England by any party. " The refusal of the late
bill, because it was not brought in contrary to the practice of ages, in
violation of the constitution, and to the certain ruin of the dependence
of Ireland upon Great Britain, is a behaviour more suiting an army of

Pj-RiOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 183

Whiteboys, than the grave representatives of a nation. This is the
most daring1 insult yet offered to government," &c. In consequence
of this act of resistance in the commons, lord Townshend prorogued
the parliament, and in his speech pronounced a severe rebuke, in which
he expounded to them the laws by which they were bound. The com-
mons forbade their clerk from entering- his speech upon their journals,
and he entered his protest in the house of lords. Against this irreg-
ular proceeding five lords protested — viz., Lowth, Charlemont, Mount-
morris, Povverscourt, and Longford. In any proceeding of the period,
it would be vain to reason strictly upon right. Every act was more or
less anomalous, -and acts grounded on expediency were protected by a
virtual irresponsibility. A crime in England liable to impeachment
would have here been little more than a mistake. But assuredly, if
the question thus opened were to be strictly looked into, the commons
had right on their side. That the law of Poynings was clearly against
them, may be admitted, on a plain construction of its whole sense. If
there is any ambiguity to be allowed, it was strictly explained by sub-
sequent statutes of Philip and Mary. But it was an established custom
by which, under the form of "heads of bills," the commons had been
allowed to originate such bills as they thought fit. Under the sanction
of this form, they had uniformly been allowed the privilege of origi-
nating the money bills. They had acquired a prescriptive right, which
may be considered as standing on the same ground as the similar con-
stitutional privilege of the English commons, which is merely custom
from time immemorial. The objection would, it is true, in the case of
Ireland, arise from the terms of distinct enactments. The Irish privilege
was opposed to the letter of the statute, and might be viewed as an
usurpation; but it was an old one, and in strict conformity with the
most recognised constitutional maxims. The whole system arising out
of the laws of Henry VII., and of Philip and Mary, &c., was a gross
anomaly — an exception in the statutes. The actual customs amounted
to an admission of this truth; and the violation, in the present instance,
of those customs, was an express declaration of a despotic power. It
was made more glaring by other violations of a similar tendency, which
were as directly against express law as against established right; — we
mean those declarations of the British parliament, which had been occa-
sionally made. The incident on which we have been remarking, itself
led to some very strong language, — " Always considering that it is one
of our most essential duties to maintain inviolate the supreme authority
of the legislature of Great Britain over every part of the dominions of
your majesty's crown." This language, directly applied to the conduct
of America, was understood to be intended to glance at that of the
Irish parliament, and greatly helped the growing ferment there.
There was also another incidental circumstance which produced a
strong- sensation in the commons. One of the members of the Irisii
administration let fall a hint that the money bill was in the nature of
a fine for the renewal of the parliament. The main ground taken by
the opposition in the parliament was constitutional, and seems to be
more strong in itself than strictly applicable to a question of settled
usage: the people, they affirmed, had no right to pay taxes laid on by
the Irish privy council. But the reply must be so obvious, that we

184 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

need not state it: it is answered by the fact of their rejection of the
bill.

The great aristocratic families, now beginning to feel themselves in
some measure unseated from their place of influence, and seeing the
further danger to which such proceedings on both sides would expose
them, must at this time have felt no small embarrassment. They could
not, without much reserve, act with either the government, which
aimed itself to supersede their influence, or with the opposition, which
was more directly opposed to that influence. They were by habits and
prejudices bound to the general policy of administration; and thus
while they lent themselves in parliament to the measures of the coun-
cil, they were at the same time loud in their appeals to the people,
against the course by which their authority in the elections had been
tampered with and diminished.

After the prorogation, an interval of fourteen months elapsed, during
which the liberality of lord Townshend's gratuities had full time to
work; and on the next meeting, in February, I771j a new spirit of
compliance manifested itself in an address, which caused the speaker,
Mr John Ponsonby, through whom it should have been presented, to
resign. In the conclusion, they thanked his majesty "for continuing
his excellency, lord Townshend, in the government of this kingdom."
On this, Mr Ponsonby observed that this lord had, " on the last day of
last session, accused them of a great crime," and that the thanks ap-
peared to him " to convey a censure of the proceedings, and a relin-
quishment of the privileges of the commons." Mr Edmond Sexton
Pery was, in consequence, chosen speaker, in the room of one worthy
to preside over a more dignified assembly. The earl of Charlemont
had made great but vain efforts to induce Ponsonby to keep the chair,
and had thought himself successful ; but after a night spent in reason-
ings to which the speaker assented, he was the next day surprised by
the event. Though silent in the house, lord Charlemont was effec-
tively the leader of the opposition through the whole proceedings of
which we have here endeavoured to give an abridged view. His
earnest zeal, and persevering alacrity — his constant good sense, and
engaging manner, gave him universal weight among the better classes.

To keep our narrative unbroken, we omitted to mention that, in
1768, his lordship had married Miss Hickman, daughter of Mr Robert
Hickman, of the county of Clare. It was, perhaps, something about
the same time, or immediately after, that he built his house in Rutland
Square, and also that at Marino. He was, it appears from a letter of
his published in Mr Hardy's memoir, deterred from residing on his
estates in the north of Ireland by the delicacy of his constitution,
which required the vicinity of the sea, and ready access to the best
medical advice. It is also, we conceive, an evident inference from his
whole life and character, that he felt a strong parental feeling for
the yet infant liberties of his country too strongly to quit the scene of
political life. To him, indeed, with more than its mere figurative
power, belongs the application of that expression which Mr Grattan
applies somewhere to himself on another occasion, of having " watched
her cradle." This part, at least, of that rhetorical antithesis was just
and true for lord Charlemont.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 185

The success of lord Townshend's administration now began more dis-
tinctly to be seen. The spirited resolutions, and the determined re-
sistance of the opposition, were completely borne down by the govern-
ment party, which appeared re-enforced by several clever young men
brought in by lord Townshend, and by several additions to the peerage,
which counterbalanced the growing opposition in the upper house. In
consequence, every proposal for the good of the country was thrown
overboard with a high hand. The burthen of misapplied taxation,
the commercial and agricultural disadvantages, and other prominent
defects which we shall presently have to detail, were vainly pressed by
the party of lord Charlemont. At the same time, however, the atten-
tion of the opposition party in the British house of commons was
forcibly awakened by the recent discussions on the rejected money
bill, and some spirited proceedings took place, which showed that a
just sense of the claims of Ireland was beginning to take root. But
of this more decided manifestations were ere long to show themselves.

Lord Townshend was recalled in 1772. He had been successful in
a high degree in effectuating the plan of policy for which he had been
sent. But, on the whole, we see reason to suspect that the British
government was disappointed in the result. In the mean time, a clearer
insight had been obtained on the real interests and just claims of Ire-
land; and though the Irish privy council had been enabled to assert a
strong control, it was becoming equally manifest that the opposition
was also advanced in weight, intelligence, and general concert with the
sense of the nation. If great power had been obtained, its limitations
were become more apparent, and its exercise more unpopular. It is
mentioned by some writers that lord Townshend was censured by the
British cabinet, for not maintaining the dignity of the Irish court. He
was a wit of the first water; and the house was told, by one of its
members, that his lordship said more good things in one night than
the whole house in a year. He won many friends by the charms of
good fellowship, and the grace of free and liberal hospitality, so
attractive to the Irish of the last century.

He was succeeded by lord Harcourt, a most amiable man. He
was, however, less active and determined, and to some extent addicted
to retirement and study, and of a temper too fastidious for the coarse
jocularity which then pervaded the manners of this country. He had
not, however, any formidable difficulty to encounter. The address of
his predecessor had secured for him a tame parliament; and, so long
as it lasted, no very formidable difficulty could be encountered. His
secretary, De Blaquiere, on whom the burthen of public affairs fell,
was qualified to make amends for the deficiency of the viceroy. He
kept the best wine, and a first-rate French cook: he caught the man-
ners, and cultivated the tastes of his supporters, with rapid tact. It
was alleged in his praise, that he was the first secretary who ever
bestowed a thought on the consideration of Irish interests — a strange,
and yet highly probable affirmation.

We have omitted to mention somewhat earlier an event in the pre-
vious administration, of which the result belongs rather to a subsequent
time, to which we shall now hurry on. A nobleman's agent in the
north endeavoured to increase his employer's income by a most oppres-

186 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

sive arrangement, in consequence of which a large portion of a numer-
ous protestant tenantry were compelled to throw up their farms, and
driven into a state of destitution. They sought redress by a rising,
and took the name of " Hearts of steel." Acts of dangerous conces-
sion increased their confidence, and multiplied their force ; and, as
usual with mobs of every country imperfectly governed, they presently
set up to redress general grievances of every kind. They were put
down by the necessary measures. But we only notice this rising to
mention the result. Many thousand protestants emigrated to America,
where they exerted no slight influence in exciting the spirit of resist-
ance which soon after began to appear.

Of the American war we shall have to say more hereafter; but it
must now be briefly noticed as the critical event on which the most
important changes of the period were to turn.

The financial difficulties of the English government had, owing to
various causes, unnecessary to detail in this place, been accumulating
in an increasing ratio, during the two previous reigns ; and various
means were adopted, of which some were calculated to postpone and
increase the difficulties ; until at last the administration of lord Town-
shend conceived the unfortunate yet specious expedient of taxing the
American colonies. The colonies, as ought to have been foreseen, resisted,
and the resistance awoke and brought into action, those revolutionary
elements with which the American states were then surcharged. From
one step to another, resistance grew on from the stamp act in 1765,
till the tax on tea, ten years later, terminated the prolonged dispute in
war.

The effects bore with destructive pressure on Ireland. In Eng-
land a great and most unhappy error prevailed as to the resources
of this country. As her internal wealth was measured by a trade,
which, contracted and impeded as it was, yet bore a disproportioned
ratio to the state of the people, there was comparatively little inter-
nal consumption, and the means and produce of the country were
poured nearly whole into the foreign markets. The public, considered
with reference to wealth, consisted of the mercantile community alone,
who (if we may transmute a well-known phrase,) constituted "patriam
in patrid." In 1773, a large debt had been created, and Irish rents,
with the interest of this debt, were spent in England. So that
when trade fell off, there was neither export nor internal consumption;
and a universal poverty, with all its frightful concomitants, pervaded
every class.

In an address at this time moved in the Irish house, we find several
statements upon this distressed condition of the country, which may be
regarded as the most authentic. The Irish debt is there sti.ted to be
£994,890, at the end of the previous session, with considerable arrears ;
on which a great exertion was made by loans and new duties, to equalize
the revenue with the expenditure. The address states, that they adopted
the calculations of the administration, and relied on the promises of
ministers in vain. That they were now under the necessity of inform-
ing his majesty, that the result of all their efforts was only to show that
they had arrived " at that point of taxation, where the imposition of
new duties lowers the old ones." They represent the funds on which

JAMES, EARL OF CIIARLEMONT. 187

they might borrow as exhausted, and their only resource, a tax on
spirits, as the last sad proof of their duty and zeal. The expenses
for the last two previous years, ending Lady-day 1775, had exceeded
the revenue by £247,749,* and the expedient of a tontine was again
adopted to raise £175,000. Among the disadvantages attendant on
this method of raising money, it was observed that the subscribers
being almost all London merchants, the annuities were an additional
exhaustion of the Irish specie.

A very general interest was felt in the progress of the American
war. One incident may help to show the nature of this public senti-
ment. Lord Howard of Effingham, on learning that his regiment
was destined for the American service, resigned his command, — for
which the city of Dublin voted him its thanks, for having like a true
Englishman refused to draw his sword against the lives and liberties
of his fellow-subjects in America ; and soon after, the guild of
merchants presented him with another address of a still more decided
character. This guild also addressed the peers of the opposition, who,
" in support of the constitution, and in opposition to a weak and
wicked administration, protested against the American restraining
bills." These are but a few specimens of numerous indications of the
same tendency.

In February 1766, a proclamation of the lord-lieutenant and council
was issued, laying an embargo on Irish provisions of every kind, except
to Great Britain and British dominions not in rebellion, not otherwise
restricted. This proceeding was considered illegal, and was resisted
by a member in the house, the honourable George Ogle, who made a
large shipment of beef to Bourdeaux.

We are reluctantly compelled to pass much that is important and
interesting in the occurrences of this year, as quite inconsistent
with the main scale of our history. The effects of the embargo were
most extensive and afflicting. We should indeed have simply to repeat
the foregoing statements with added force, but no great variety of
details. The complaints of 1766 are but louder, more widely spread-
ing, and sadder echoes of 1765.

Lord Harcourt was recalled, and lord Buckinghamshire sent in his
room. As the Irish parliament had been latterly manifesting signs of
an intractable spirit, great efforts had been made to secure and extend
the influence thus endangered. Many new peerages restored the
balance in the house of lords; no less than 18 new peers having been
created in one day. The new viceroy himself, not without moderate
talents and some knowledge of business, brought over with him as his
secretary, a Mr Heron, the agent of his estates, — a person totally
incapable of even comprehending, much less endeavouring to meet,
the complication of difficulties and distresses of the country at a season
of unparalleled emergency.

But more decisive events and more over-ruling influences, were at the
same time in rapid preparation. And the struggle on which the future
destiny of Ireland was to depend, seems to have passed into other

* This motion was rejected, but is not the less authoritative, as it expresses
the truths which it was the policy of the Irish council to suppress.

188 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

hands. The British administration at last thoroughly convinced of
the critical state of Ireland, entered directly and liberally on the
question of her sufferings and interests; and it is plain that in the
English council there existed a disposition to do the fullest justice.
And we must here add, that though in the first efforts, this liberal
disposition was frustrated by the interests and prejudices of the
English people; we are still inclined to refer to it many of the salu-
tary measures, and even concessions which were afterwards attributed
to more immediate and ostensible influences.

On the motion of lord Nugent, a committee was appointed in the
English house of commons, to consider the trade of Ireland, and
several resolutions were made in its favour, on which bills were framed.
We do not enumerate them, as they were interrupted by very violent
petitions from several of the most influential of the English trading
towns, which were alarmed at any extension of the trade of Ireland.
On this a very violent and protracted opposition took place, and the
struggle was, for the occasion, compromised for some enlargements
in favour of the linen trade.

The same liberality was more effectively exerted upon a question
on which there was happily a prevailing unanimity of sentiment. The
gentry of the Koman church were at last freed from the oppression of
a law, at the same time cruel and inefficacious, which compelled them to
hold their estates by evasions and connivances, insulting to their feelings
and disgraceful to the legislature. Hitherto, their main resource against
this unfortunate law had been fictitious conveyances to their protestant
relations and friends, and a story is told that in one of the southern
counties, a great part of the landed property was thus vested in a poor
barber. The Irish judges also had to the utmost extent of their discre-
tion, interrupted the operation of these iniquitous statutes, chiefly by the
obstacles which they contrived to throw in the way of informers. And
in some cases of great hardship, where there was no other resource, the
legislature itself interfered by special acts. It was, under any conceiv-
able modification, a dismal state of things, when the most respectable
persons were compelled to stand in awe of the basest. " This species
of universal subserviency," writes Mr Burke, "that makes the very ser-
vant who stands behind your chair, the arbiter of your life and fortune,
has such a tendency to degrade and debase mankind, and to deprive
them of that assured and liberal state of mind, which alone can make
us what we ought to be, that I vow to God I would sooner bring my-
self to put a man to immediate death for opinions I disliked, and so
get rid of the man and his opinions at once, than to fret him with a
feverish being, tainted with the jail distemper of a contagious servi-
tude, &c." A bill was introduced by Mr Luke Gardner, in 1778,
"for the relief of his majesty's subjects of this kingdom professing the
popish religion." By this bill all the severe enactments of William
and Mary, affecting the tenure of property, with other penal regula-
tions, were entirely removed. A similar measure was introduced by
Sir George Saville, in the British house of commons, and passed with-
out a single opposing vote. On this liberality it is here just to
remark, that it went to the utmost extent, which, according to the
political opinions of that period, was consistent with the safety of the

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 189

kingdom. Nor were the nobility and gentry of the church of Rome
of a different opinion. The language of the Romish aristocracy in
England was moderate and reasonable ; they simply put forward, as with
truth they might, their own unshaken and unsuspected loyalty. " We
have patiently," they stated, " submitted to such restrictions and discour-
agements as the legislature thought expedient. We have thankfully re-
ceived such relaxations of the rigour of the laws, as the mildness of
an enlightened age, and the benignity of your majesty's government
have gradually produced; and we submissively wait, without presuming
to anticipate either time or measure, for such other indulgence as
those happy causes cannot fail to effect." This meritorious spirit of
patient moderation, thus shown, had long acted upon the national
good sense and good feeling of the English nation ; there no unhappy
recurrences of party appeal to religious animosity had kept alive the
prejudices of earlier times, till they had long survived their substantial
causes. The English Romanists were but British subjects, and one
among the numerous communions which acknowledge one crown,
constitution, and standard. When the measure of Sir G. Saville was
proposed, it was met with one sentiment of approbation. From
Mr Burke's public statement already quoted, we learn in the most
authoritative form, that not only the whole house of commons, but
the " whole house of lords, the whole bench of bishops, the king,
the ministry, the opposition, all the distinguished clergy of the estab-
lishment, all the eminent lights, (for they were consulted), of the dis-
senting churches; all were unanimous in their agreement." Happily
then, this was not a great question — the ground of contending factious,
and implicated with a dangerous complexity of considerations — it
could be, and was, met simply on its own simple grounds.

We have now at length arrived at the critical point of Irish history,
and may proceed more freely onward. The state of Ireland had
become such as to make it apparent, that the game of expedients was
at an end. From end to end, poverty, distress, and insolvency, lay like
a cloud upon the land — the plainest statements drawn from the cus-
tom-house, and compared with the remittances of public money, ex-
hibited the then startling fact, that these remittances amounted to
more than double the sum accruing to Ireland from her entire exports.
It was felt by every one at all conversant in public affairs, that such a
state of things could not continue. The distress of England gave
added force and weight to the cry of Ireland, and to the clamour for
justice and relief which came monthly louder and louder over the
channel. And while heated discussions on Irish rights were intro-
duced and thrown out in the British parliament; and the Irish
parliament, more within the sphere of the national sufferings, was
assuming a firmer and less factious tone — incidents from without
gave the ultimate direction to events.

The Irish channel was now become infested by American privateers
which seized on trading vessels within sight of the shore. The Irish
traders were, for the first time, compelled to sail under convoy along
the very coast; and a great part of the English trade was compelled
to be carried on in foreign bottoms. For a little time the British
public was enabled to shut its eyes to the danger — the trade attendant

190 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

on the war itself cast a gleam of delusion on eyes -willing to be
deluded, while unequivocal symptoms of ruin affected all the perma-
nent branches of trade, and bankruptcies thickened in every quarter.
France continued to temporize, and, while she in every underhand
manner abetted the Americans, still held out the language of pacific
intention. A play of remonstrances and illusory compliances continued
for some time to be carried on till May, when France having gained
all the objects of procrastination, declared a treaty of commerce with
America, in which the colonies were considered as independent, and
concluded with a very intelligible intimation of preparations to act in
concert with America for the maintenance of their treaty. And never
did ambition and political bad faith more surely lay the fatal train
which was to eventuate in a dreadful retribution, than the French
court, when it thus cast its weight and sanction into this commence-
ment of a great revolution, in the vortex of which it was in .a few
years more to occupy the bloody centre. In this critical moment,
" when transatlantic liberty arose,"

" Not in the sunshine and t'he smile of heaven,
But wrapt in whirlwinds and begirt with woes,"

duplicity, and rashness, extravagance, financial blundering, and des-
potism, singularly combined with the admission and encouragement
of political and philosophical charlatanism, and the normal school of
sedition, that sent out its emissaries into all the surrounding countries,
made France the depository of collecting woes and crimes for the
evil day that was ere long to rise for her chastisement.

Ireland, to which, from time immemorial, the enemies of England
had directed the artifices and resources of secret intrigue, had not in
the beginning of the great strife been overlooked by either America
or France. But here the spirit of the people had widely changed,
and there was a general sense entertained, that a more fair and liberal
disposition towards the country had already begun to grow in Eng-
land. The motions which had recently been made in the British
house of commons, in favour of Irish interests, though frustrated by
local opposition, had yet plainly manifested the friendly disposition of
the higher authorities and the better classes — liberal concessions too,
had actually been made, and a general sentiment was awakened of
hopeful expectation; with this there was a gloomy recollection that
rebellion had only woven and rivetted chains, and laid waste the very
sources of renovation. The addresses of America had excited temporary
heat; but the better and then more influential portion of the Irish
people reciprocated the maxims and precepts of patriotism and of
freedom, neither in the hostile temper of America, nor in the fanatic,
mystical, and rationalizing temper of the volatile Parisians, but after
their own peculiar spirit with a religious frame of heart, and bent of
opinion, on which, infidelity, the great relaxer of all principles, could
not tell with any wide" effect, — a native shrewdness not easy to be
fooled by new delusions, though not proof against as strong a ten-
dency to old prejudices, — a natural though mixed and variously
tempered loyalty, and a rising hope of better times. These saner
influences operated at the moment with some conditions of a differ-

PERIOD.] JAMES EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 191

ent kind, among which we shall now only delay to notice one — that
the large class of Irish among whom the seeds of internal disorgani-
zation might with most apparent probability be looked for, were then,
neither in strength nor intelligence, in the least degree formidable.

Such was the general state of affairs when a moment of great and
nearly unexampled alarm arose and prevailed both in England and
Ireland, and the fear of invasion by a French fleet became universal.
The combined French and American fleet rode freely through the
channel, and the harbour of Dublin was fortified for the first time.
The great commercial city of the north, Belfast, applied for protection
to the government: the secretary replied by an acknowledgment of weak-
ness, and they were offered half a troop of dismounted cavalry and half
a corps of invalids. This acknowledgment of helplessness was tanta-
mount to a free commission of self-defence, and prompt and effective
was the conduct with which it was answered. The city immediately
formed a volunteer corps, to which they elected officers, and which
was armed, clothed, and maintained, at its own expense. The example
ran through all the northern towns. The town of Armagh raised the
corps which was immediately commanded by lord Charlemont.

As the rise and growth of the volunteers were prompt, sudden, and
rapid, so the effects were immediate, extensive, and various. The
government was alarmed; the enemy was disconcerted; and a deep
and pervading sense became universal, though cautiously as well as
generously suppressed, that without any one act of disloyalty or dis-
affection, but with the sanction of the most honourable and righteous
occasions, Ireland, for the first time, held her own fortune in her
hands.

The government was dismayed because they at once saw the whole
strength of the position thus obtained, while they were far from any
anticipation of the temperate spirit which was to govern the results.
They had neither men nor money, and felt themselves compelled to
choose between a French invasion, and an armed people ; and they
preferred the safer alternative. They could not, however, fail to be
aware of the highly civilized character, and the loyal motives of the
northern volunteers; and the rank, pretensions, and property of the
body of gentlemen by whom they were officered, must have been felt
to be a ground of security. This security, however, could only operate
so far as respected the general peace and security of the country; for
though the volunteers were adulterated by not even a mixture of the
mere rabble which constitutes the force of rebellions, they were thus
but more to be feared, as menacing danger to those unconstitutional
abuses and mal-organizations to which the minds of such men as now
led their country's defence, and were armed with her power, were most
likely to look upon with hostility. To meet this formidable apprehen-
sion, the only resource would have been as quickly as possible to
neutralize their national character by investing them with that of
regular troops under the pay, discipline, and orders of the castle. But
for such a purpose there was no money to be had, nor would it probably*
have availed. It was attempted to persuade the officers to take out
regular commissions, — this being, as they suggested, the only ground
of safety in the case of being taken prisoners. But the motive was

192 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

otherwise understood, and the refusal, perhaps, may be placed among
the numerous indications that these gentlemen had from the first a full
sense of their position of strength.

The enemy, on their part, saw the danger of encountering such a
force — it was, doubtless, much exaggerated by report. It also convinced
them of the inutility of relying on any aid to be derived from Irish dis-
affection,— the great motive of all the invasions ever directed to her
coasts.

The further and more important events with the history of the
volunteers demand a more extended and circumstantial narration.
The prosperous operation of this great public movement may be re-
ferred to the character of its leaders, and to the general unanimity
of the public mind as to the justice of its objects. And Mr
Hardy has, we think, justly observed, that results so favourable
could not have occurred if (as happened some years later) the prin-
ciples of the French revolution had been instilled into the public
mind. The justice of these reflections is, in truth, nearly self-evident.
The effects of any dissension between the ranks and orders of the
state, are directly and immediately subversive of society; and of this
the dissolution of the ancient Roman commonwealth is an example on
a large, and that of France, on a small scale. But the event of the
time of which we now write was a wholly different result from wholly
different means. The objects then contended for were, unanimously
and earnestly, the desire of every individual of every rank and creed,
not actually in the pay of government. They were plain, universal,
and evident rights, concerning which there was no question in point of
principle, — free trade and a free parliament. The leaders of the con-
test were the noblest in rank, the ablest in understanding, and the most
justly respected for private worth and public integrity. They were
followed by the better part of the Irish people, placed by circumstances
on a vantage-ground of influence not under ordinary circumstances to
be attained by the public. The public which cannot directly interfere
in the legislature unless by some movement of an antisocial nature, was
imbodied in this instance, by a concurrence of incidents, wholly untinged
with revolutionary excitement, to give effect to the purest and noblest
portion of its virtue and intelligence. " Lord Charlemont," writes Mr
Hardy — "and the great and good men who acted with him, took care
to confine the public mind to two great principles, — the defence of
the empire, and the restoration of the constitution. In their steps to
the latter, they were peculiarly cautious to limit the national claim to
such a point only as Ireland herself could not decide upon, — this was
a grant of free trade." In the same paragraph he observes the effect
produced by the good conduct of the volunteers. " If the kingdom,"
he writes, " was menaced from abroad, it was at home in a state of
unexampled security. Private property, private peace, were every-
where watched over by the volunteers with a filial and pious care."
They could not, he observes, be styled " a banditti," — the term applied
by ministers to the American associations.

\N hen the propositions in favour of Irish trade which lord North
had this year introduced into the British parliament, after being as-
sented to by that body, were suppressed in compliance with the jea-

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT, 193

lousy of several English manufacturing towns. There was (as we
have already observed) a far greater hope communicated by the good
intent thus manifested by the British government, than of discourage-
ment from the narrow selfishness of the trading communities by
which it was intercepted. But it was at the same time felt, that some
public demonstration was necessary, both to counteract the effects,
and expose the folly and injustice of such opposition. The non-
importation agreement, formerly recommended by Swift, was now
zealously and generally adopted. The effects were immediate and
beneficial; the demands of luxury and fashion which had hitherto
contributed to the trade of England, now were turned to renew our
own ; and a wide-spread despondency was changed into gratitude and
hope.

The volunteers, in the mean time, rapidly increased in spirit, dis-
cipline, and numbers ; and lord Charlemont, whose inspiriting influence
was felt in every rightly directed effort of the public mind, devoted all
his exertion to their improvement in these respects.

In October, 1779, the Irish parliament assembled. It opened with
an incident amply illustrative of the foregoing statements. In the
previous session, an amendment to the address, expressive of the sense
of the public-spirited Opposition, had been in the usual manner nega-
tived by the house. It nevertheless, according to Mr Hardy, " left a
strong impression on the house," and we can have no doubt, had, in
the meantime, operated as a rallying point to public feeling. Mp
Daly, who had been the mover, and the illustrious band of eminent
men, of whom he was one, now determined to try it once more. On
the present occasion the ministerial address moved by Sir Robert
Deane, and simply echoing the speech from the throne, was supported
by Mr R. H. Hutchinson, Sir H. Cavendish, and the attorney-general:
the amendment moved by Mr Grattan was supported by Mr Ogle,
Sir Edward Newenham, the provost of Trinity College — the honour-
able Henry Flood, and the prime sergeant. Mr Grattan censured the
speech as inexplicit — and as an attempt to quiet the public mind,
without any express declaration — he then dwelt strongly on the dis-
tresses of the kingdom, which he described as " the beggary of the
people, and the bankruptcy of the state." The first he attributed to
commercial restrictions, the second to the boundless prodigality, and
other crimes of administration. The amendment which he offered,
injudiciously connected the object proposed with complaints very likely
to excite division, but concluded by proposing " a free export trade,"
as the only remedy. Sir H. Cavendish replied by a dexterous pro-
posal, that the object in view would be better effected, by appointing a
committee for the purpose. Mr Ogle exposed the artifice of such a
proposal, and pointedly reminded the commons of the old excuse of
ministers, who were accustomed to plead the silence caused by their
own artifices, " that truly they did not know what the Irish wanted,
as their parliament was silent on the head." After some others
had spoken with great strength, the leaders of the castle party saw
the necessity of a change of direction : it seemed too obviously neces-
sary to tack before the strong change of wind: a declaration was
made from the administration benches, that they would not oppose the

VOL. v. N

194 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

amendment. As many of the leading members of the opposition ob-
jected to the terms of Mr Grattan's amendment, Mr Burgh now rose
to move it in another equally decided, but less encumbered form.
When he was about to move — Mr Flood whispered to him across the
benches, " state a free trade only." Burgh had so intended, or he
took the hint, and moved, " that it is not by temporary expedients,
but by a free trade alone, that this nation is now to be saved from
impending ruin."

This amendment was unanimously carried. When the house went
up to present their address at the castle, the way between College-
green and Dame Street, was lined with the volunteers, with the duke
of Leinster at their head.

This decisive stroke, not more influential as a declaration, than for its
effect upon the body from whence it came, and indeed on every con-
stituent portion of the nation, was followed up with a vigour and deci-
sion hitherto unknown in the annals of Irish Oppositions. It was in-
deed a moment for the overflow of that national triumph, which followed
and urged, as well as encouraged the whole course of these eventful
proceedings. The presence of the national volunteers, imparted an
influence, and propagated an impulse which diffused itself into every
part of the kingdom and operated on every class ; as yet animated only
by the first loyal and constitutional sentiment which brought them
together, and unaffected by that accumulating fever of self-confidence
and self-assertion which is sure, sooner or later, to alter the direction
and infatuate the progress of all such merely popular organizations,
their presence had none but beneficial effects. They were, it is true,
an unconstitutional force, but the whole state of things around them
was also unconstitutional, and seemed to call for the presence of some
power more quick and energetic than is afforded by the common sys-
tem of civil order to give the sanatory impulse to its vital action.
The forces of social order and progress, were feebly developed, con-
flicting among themselves and overpowered by the active proximity of
British rule. The ruler and the ruled had not the reciprocal interest
which commonly tempers and modifies their common relation : — it was
the seeming interest of England to oppress the trade, and for this
purpose to repress the strength of Ireland and the main instrument
by which these objects were mainly effected, was internal division. It
was essential for the dispersion of so fatal a union of forces, involv-
ing all the vital functions in a combination of disease, that some
extra constitutional force should be applied, and such were the Irish
volunteers. In the entire history of revolutions, there will not be
found a case in which this force was so sanely and temperately used.
Called up on a great and sudden emergency, with the sanction of
government, and headed by the best talent and virtue in the Irish
aristocracy, they were an extra legal but not lawless concentration of
national strength with national intelligence and feeling: in availing
themselves of the advantage of this position) they were rigidly within
the limits of a sacred and imperative duty. Their demands went no
further than the precise measure of this duty : and so far as the neces-
sity of the occasion allowed, they gradually abstained from transgres-
sing the lines of that constitution which it was their object to perfect

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 195

and repair, not infringe. The first demonstrations of such a power
were universally felt. England saw the necessity of yielding that
justice which her enlightened statesmen only awaited permission to
yield. The factions which conceived their own sordid interests to be
promoted by misgovernment were overawed and discouraged, while
the more liberal and enlightened, who were animated by a true and
enlightened patriotism, were inspired with confidence and hope.
Thus, animated by a powerful combining sentiment, a clear intelli-
gence and a tempered but resolute spirit, they imparted at the same time
confidence to some, and control to others. Corresponding with this
important indication of Irish sense and spirit, an improved sense of
the true commercial interests of both countries and disposition to jus-
tice towards Ireland, had obtained no small growth among the higher
classes in England: the British legislature, through all its branches, had
already taken the lead in declaring the most free and liberal consent,
and the only opposition which in fact existed, had its origin in certain
local interests. This last-mentioned opposition too bad been in some
measure removed by the nonimportation agreement; and it only re-
mained to be shown, that the claims of Ireland were become impera-
tive, and that any further delays must end in consequences which no
party or class could fail to deprecate. With the sense of justice, the
perception of necessity became now clearly combined, and for an inter-
val, the popular party acted under the inspiriting conviction, that the
fortune of Ireland was in their hands.

Such was the immediate aspect of opinion and public feeling, at the
moment when the Irish house of commons, having passed and pre-
sented their address, amid the peals of national enthusiasm, entered
in a new spirit on a course of proceedings, dictated by the same im-
pulse, and countenanced by the same array of national strength. They
commenced by passing a unanimous vote of thanks to the volunteers ; and,
entering upon business, they manifested the consistency of their temper
by passing the vote of supply for six months only. They immediately
after passed a resolution of the utmost importance, stating the wants of
the country in a distinct form. It was moved, and unanimously carried,
that " the exportation from this country of its woollen and other manu-
factures to all foreign places, would materially tend to relieve its dis-
tresses, increase its wealth," &c. Another clause expressed their sense
of the advantages to be derived from the American, West Indian, and
African trades.

During the same session, the expedient of raising money by a lot-
tery was for the first time used in Ireland. £200,000 were raised by
40,000 tickets, at £5 each, and the prizes were paid with debentures,
bearing interest at 4 per cent. Another sum of £140,000 was raised
by an issue of treasury bills, bearing interest £4:11: 3d. per cent.

On the 13th December 1779> the claims of Ireland were once
more advanced under more favourable auspices in the British house
of commons. Lord North brought forward three propositions, — to
allow Ireland the free export of wool, woollens, and wool flocks — a
free export of glass and all glass manufactures — a free trade with all
the British plantations, upon certain considerations, of which the basis
was to be the equalization of customs, &c. In his speech, the noble

196 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

lord showed great ability and a thorough knowledge of the subject.
He was supported by his opponents of the year before, and carried
these important resolutions with the full consent of both sides of the
house. Bills on the two first resolutions were brought in with rapidity,
passed both houses, and received the royal consent before the holidays.

The third resolution involved more extensive considerations; and it
was also felt desirable to ascertain, before further concession, in what
spirit it would be received. Happily, the Irish parliament, as well as
the people, took the measure with every expression of gratitude and
satisfaction, and granted supplies for a year and a half. A sum of
£610,000 was borrowed, to discharge the arrears upon the establish-
ment, and an addition to the revenue was made, to the amount of
£150,000 a-year.

The new-born spirit of independence was not long suffered to slum-
ber in congratulation. When, shortly after, the mutiny bill, passed as
usual for a limited time, was transmitted, it was made perpetual by the
English privy council. This infringement of rights was soon and
hotly debated in the Irish parliament; but this body was perhaps ac-
tuated by a sense that they had shown enough of spirit, and that much
had been conceded; they now finally confirmed the altered bill. The
compliance gave high and instantaneous offence to the public. Several of
the boroughs at once remonstrated. The merchant corps of the volun-
teers held a meeting at the Royal Exchange, in which several highly
spirited resolutions were passed. Of these we shall only distinguish
one: — "Resolved, that we will concur with the volunteer corps of
this kingdom, and the rest of our fellow-subjects, in every effort to
avert the dangers we are threatened with." But on this, and numerous
minor incidents, which during the next following year occupied the
public, it will be unnecessary to enter in detail. It will be enough to
state, that their general effect was to awaken, keep on the alert, and
concentrate the public attention; so that a growing excitement, an
increasing consciousness of power, and a sense that the occasion was
critical for the assertion of national rights, pervaded every class at
all susceptible of political impulse. The Irish volunteers continued to
increase in spirit and strength; and while they thus increased, they
also began more and more to assume the overt form of a political
organ, and to appear less equivocal in their similarity to the ordinary
developments of revolutionary movement. At length, in 1782, they
assumed an attitude so imposing and formidable, that all obstacles of
a political nature gave way before the menace of their power, and the
party which was backed by their formidable influence gained a vic-
tory, which would have been more productive of unmixed advantage,
if the victors had more fully appreciated their position, and seen where
to stop. The event to which we allude was the meeting of the repre-
sentatives of 143 corps of volunteers of Ulster, at Dungannon. They
passed resolutions, which imbodied every question and every cause of
complaint. They first asserted their own right to debate and publish
their opinions, and then proceeded, in a series of spirited resolutions,
to declare the exclusive right of legislation to be in the king, lords,
and commons of Ireland. They declared against the powers assumed
by the privy council of both kingdoms, under the pretence of Poyning's

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 197

law. They asserted the right of free trade in its fullest extent, con-
demned the perpetual mutiny bill, asserted the necessity of the inde-
pendence of the judges. They declared their fixed resolution to seek
the redress of the grievances thus stated, appointed a standing com-
mittee to represent, act for them, and call general meetings of the
.province. They strongly condemned the conduct of the court of Por-
tugal, -which refused admission to Irish goods, and pledged themselves
not to consume any wine of the growth of that kingdom during the
continuance of such an exclusion, and concluded by a declaration of
their approbation of the recent acts in favour of the Church of Rome,
in the following terms: — "That we hold the right of private judg-
ment in matters of religion to be equally sacred in others as in our-
selves. Resolved, therefore, that as men and as Irishmen, as chris-
tians and as protestants, we rejoice in the relaxation of the penal laws
against our Roman catholic fellow-subjects," &c. They also moved
an address of thanks to the minority in the two houses. The brevity
of this address enables us to give it a place, which its nervous spirit
and its importance merits: —

" My Lords and Gentlemen,

" We thank you for your noble and

spirited, though hitherto ineffectual efforts in defence of the great
constitutional and commercial rights of your country. Go on; the
almost unanimous voice of the people is with you ; and in a free coun-
try the voice of the country must prevail. We know our duty to our
sovereign, and are loyal. We know our duty to ourselves, and are
resolved to be free. We seek for our rights, and no more than our
rights; and in so just a pursuit, we should doubt the being of Provi-
dence if we doubted of success."

The conduct of the Ulster volunteers met with universal applause,
and their example was followed by all the other corps throughout Ire-
land. We shall only specify the lawyers' corps, which resolved, " that
we do highly approve of the resolutions and address of the Ulster
volunteers, represented at Dungannon on the 15th February instant.
That as citizens and volunteers, we will co-operate with the several
corps whose delegates met at Dungannon," &c.

The Dungannon committee immediately published a spirited address
to the electors of Ulster. Among other strong expressions they said,
" It is a time pregnant with circumstances which revolving ages may
not so easily combine. The spirit of liberty is gone abroad; it is em-
braced by the people at large, and every day brings with it an acces-
sion of strength. The timid have laid aside their fears, and the
virtuous sons of Ireland stand secure in their numbers." These sen-
tences may be offered as descriptive of the sensation at that moment
beginning to be universal in Ireland.

These demonstrations were followed by others as decided from
other public bodies, of whom the sheriffs, freemen, and freeholders of
Dublin may be mentioned. Still more remarkable for its forcible,
yet tempered and constitutional expression of the general feeling, was
the address from the university of Dublin to its representatives, Wai-

198 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ter Burgh and John Fitzgibbon. To this we shall have to revert on
a future occasion.

At last, the combination of favourable circumstances necessary for
the great change which was to take place, was fully matured. Strong
expediency; a determined and unanimous national feeling; leaders the
ablest, as well as most influential, were added to a friendly adminis-,
tration. Mr Fox brought down a message to the English commons
from the king, " that being concerned to find discontents and jealousies
prevailing among his loyal subjects in Ireland, on matters of great
weight and importance, he earnestly recommended to the house to
take the same into their most serious consideration, in order to such
a final adjustment as might give satisfaction to both kingdoms." The
sincerity of the intentions of the king and of the British government,
was rendered now apparent by the straightforward and unequivocal
manner of their proceeding. The same message was sent to the house
of lords ; and that the measure consequent thereupon should have the
fullest concurrence of both kingdoms, a similar message was conveyed
to the Irish parliament through the secretary, which office was then
held by John Hely Hutchinson. The detail of the transactions of a
legislative character which emanated from this proceeding, will more
appropriately be entered upon in the life of Mr Grattan, to which we
refer for the continuation of the political history of this immediate in-
terval,— here simply confining our narration to such notices as may
render intelligible the remainder of the history of the Irish volunteers
and of lord Charlemont.

On the king's messsage, an address was moved by Mr Grattan, in the
Irish house of commons, both expressing the gratitude of Ireland, and
stating her principal grievances: and, in consequence, a repeal of the
act 6th Geo. I. was moved on the same day in both houses in Eng-
land. As to the mutiny bill, and on Poyning's law — the English par-
liament viewing them as concerns lying entirely between the king
and the Irish parliament — simply carried a general resolution, pur-
porting that a solid connexion should, by mutual consent, be estab-
lished between the two countries ; at the same time, a bill for securing
the independence of the judges had been returned to the castle. For
our present purpose of a mere summary, there is no more to be told.
The Irish legislature was at once placed in a position of the most un-
qualified independence, and all was triumph and congratulation. The
services of Mr Grattan, in bringing about this desirable consumma-
tion, were acknowledged by the secretary, and it was also on this occa-
sion that a munificent reward for those services was voted by the Irish
house of commons. A sum of £100,000 was voted toward raising
20,000 seamen for the fleet.

The volunteers of Ulster and Connaught published loyal addresses,
which expressed or gave a tone to the public mind; and for the moment
a common feeling of enthusiasm appeared universal. " The distinction
between England and Ireland is no more ; we are now one people ; we
have but one interest, one cause, one enemy, one friend, and we trust
that the conduct of the Irish nation will demonstrate to all mankind,
that the same spirit which grasps at liberty and spurns at usurpation,
is equally alive to the impressions of friendship, of kindness, and of

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 199

generosity." Such was the language of the Irish volunteers, in this
moment which seemed so auspicious for the fortunes, and so satisfac-
tory to the pride of this country.

We now pass to the more exclusive history of lord Charlemont
and his volunteers. It demands no elaborate exposition to render it
clear to the common experience of the most ordinary observer of popu-
lar movement, how a body constituted of such elements, and having a
bond of combination so charged with excitement, should, by no very
slow degrees, change in its character and in the direction of its views;
how the sense of influence and of strength, how the stimulus and love
of power, and how, also, the extension of its originating motives and
principles, with many other less obvious causes, would by degrees trans-
gress the limits within which their application could be useful or safe.
Such spontaneous organizations of national power and patriotism, called
forth by public emergency, cannot, indeed, be too exclusively confined
to the immediate occasion which has thus required them; for the virtue,
discretion, and knowledge of the best class of men who are not pro-
fessionally conversant with public affairs, is altogether unequal to any
safe interference beyond the call of these rough expediencies. Of these
reflections, the history of the volunteers offers no inaccurate illustration.
Called together by a moment of obvious and imminent danger, the exist-
ence of the volunteers was happily coincident with a juncture of circum-
stances which gave them an incidental weight in hastening the progress
of measures favourable to the freedom and commercial prosperity of
Ireland. But having been thus so far fortunately efficient, they quickly
became the centre in this country for the reception of many popular
influences of a more questionable nature, which then profoundly worked
in the heart of Europe, and more especially in France and England.
The fervour of liberty was to gather intensity until it had reached the
fever point; and we cannot but consider the subsequent conduct of the
Irish volunteers as among the most remarkable indications of the early
working of the same principle which afterwards showed itself in its
more advanced stages in the French Revolution and in the Irish Re-
bellions. Happily for the time of our history, these dangerous ele-
ments were as yet far from the point of explosion; it must also be ad-
mitted that the volunteers were constituted of the very best elements
of the Irish population, and governed by the purest and noblest of the
classes above them.

At the same period involved in our present narrative, there was in
England a strong public excitement upon the question of parliamentary
reform. In Ireland it found a ready reflection in the ranks of the
volunteers. Here, indeed, the demand for such a reform was far
more evident, as will be readily admitted from the statements in the
foregoing part of this memoir. Here the cry for reform had already
been more than once raised by a few eminent members of the oppo-
sition, and the advantages so recently obtained, now gave increased
ardour to the political zeal of the volunteers and the opposition mem-
bers in the Irish house of commons. " The voice of England," ob-
serves Mr Hardy, " in favour of reform was re-echoed here, not by the
people, but by the volunteers; issuing indeed from the people, but
still a military body, numerous and formidable."

200 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Thus gradually heated by a strong zeal, the volunteers exalted their
sense of their own character, and enlarged their requisitions. They
began to arrogate to themselves the deliberative functions of a par-
liament, and the right of dictation to the national legislature. In the
spring of 1783, they began to hold meetings, in which strong resolu-
tions in favour of reform were passed; and in July, a committee of
delegates met in Belfast, and sent letters to lord Charlemont, as well
as to the duke of Richmond, Mr Pitt, and other members of the
British administration. In that which lord Charlemont received, the
following passage announced the extent of their views: — "We have
yet another favour to request, viz., that your lordship would inform us
whether shortening the duration of parliaments, exclusion of pensions,
limiting the number of placemen, and a tax on absentees, or any of
them, be, in your lordship's opinion, subjects in which the volunteers
of Ireland ought to interfere ; and we earnestly request that your lord-
ship may favour us with a sketch of such resolutions as your lordship
would think proper to be proposed at Dungannon."

This letter was received by lord Charlemont with some sensations
of uneasiness. He fully approved the political sentiments which it
expressed, but strongly deprecated the spirit of interference which it
not less plainly manifested. He wrote a manly and temperate answer,
in which, having expressed his concurrence with their view of mea-
sures generally, he reminded them that these questions were already
in competent hands, and advised them to confine their addresses simply
to the general desire for parliamentary reform.

The moderation of his lordship was unhappily confined to himself.
On the 8th September, 1783, 500 delegates, representing 248 volun-
teer corps of Ulster volunteers, assembled in Dungannon. They
passed thirteen resolutions, of which the substance was generally such
as every one will at once truly conjecture; the last alone will be
enough to quote: — "That a committee of five persons from each
county be now chosen by ballot, to represent this province in a grand
national convention, to be held at noon, in the Royal Exchange, Dub-
lin, on the 1 Oth day of November next, to which we trust each of the
other provinces will send delegates, to digest and publish a plan of
parliamentary reform, to pursue such measures as may appear to them
likely to render it effectual, to adjourn from time to time, and convene
provincial meetings if found necessary." This remarkable resolution
was accompanied by directions to their delegates as to the expedi-
ency and means of obtaining specific information upon the state of the
boroughs, and a recommendation to the Irish representatives to refuse
their consent to bills of supply, for any term beyond six months, till a
full redress of all grievances should have been obtained. They also
published an address to the " volunteer armies of the provinces of
Munster, Leinster, and Connaught." The language of this address
was highly calculated to alarm every thinking and observing person;
for it was specious and inflammatory, and spoke precisely the language
which has always proceeded from revolutionary conventions, under
whatever name they have met. One clause will be for the present
enough : — " From a grand national convention, distinguished by integ-
rity, and inspired with the courageous spirit of the constitution, every

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 201

blessing must result. With one voice, then, the voice of united mil-
lions, let Ireland assert her claim to freedom." In this address they
also state their object to be the maturing of an " extensive plan of
reform," to be " produced as the solemn act of the volunteer army of
Ireland."

The plan thus proposed at Dungannon was at once adopted by the
other provincial corps. On the 10th of November they met in Dublin,
and elected the earl of Charlemont for their chairman. For the par-
ticulars of its meeting we shall quote Mr Hardy : — " The convention
met in Dublin, at the Royal Exchange, when, as preparatory to
everything else, they chose lord Charlemont their president. The
same reason," says his lordship, " which had induced me to accept the
nomination from Armagh, and to persuade many moderate friends of
mine, much against their wishes, to suffer themselves to be delegated,
namely, that there should be in the assembly a strength of prudent
men, sufficient, by withstanding or preventing violence, to secure mo-
derate measures, induced me now to accept the troublesome and dan-
gerous office of president, which was unanimously voted to me. Ano-
ther reason also concurred to prevent my refusal. The bishop of
Derry had, I knew, done all in his power to be elected to that office,
and I feared that, if I should refuse, the choice might fall on him,
which would, indeed, have been fatal to the public repose." The dele-
gates being very numerous, the place of meeting was altered from the
Exchange, the rooms of which were too small, to the Rotunda, in
Rutland Square. Lord Charlemont, as president, led the way, accom-
panied by a squadron of horse; then followed the delegates, who
walked two and two, and formed a procession altogether as novel as

imposing When the convention proceeded to

business, it was soon found that his moderation and good sense, aided
by the most respectable in that convention, would too often prove alto-
gether inefficient. Though Mr Brownlow, a wise man, carrying with
him that authority which wisdom and integrity, supported by large
possessions, will generally command, was chairman of the committee
into which the convention resolved itself — though other gentlemen,
the most respectable, formed the sub-committee, whose business it was
to receive plans of reform — the violent, untutored, and unprincipled,
sometimes prevailed, and carried resolutions totally contrary to the
wishes of the president or chairman."

" A singular scene was soon displayed, and yet such a scene as any
one who considered the almost unvarying disposition of an assembly of
that nature, and the particular object for which it was convened, might
justly have expected. From every quarter, and from every specu-
latist — great clerks or no clerks at all — was poured out in such a mul-
tiplicity of plans of reform, some of them ingenious, some which be-
spoke an exercised and rational mind, but in general, as I have been
well assured, so utterly impracticable, " so rugged and wild in their
attire," they looked not like " the offspring of inhabitants of the earth,
and yet were on it;" that language would sink in pourtraying this
motley band of incongruous fancies — of misshapen theories — valuable
only if inefficient, or execrable if efficacious. All this daily issued
from presumptuous empirics, or the vainly busy minds of some political

202 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

philanthropists, whom the good-breeding alone of their countrymen
permitted to be regarded as not totally out of their senses. The
committee showed a perseverance almost marvellous, but the musky
conceits and solemn vanities of such pretenders would have put even
the patience of the man of Uz to flight. At last, after being for
several days bewildered in this palpable obscure of politics, and more
and more theories flitting round the heads of the unfortunate, that
which must for ever take place on such occasions, took place here. A
dictator was appointed, not indeed in name, but in substance."

The convention went vigorously to work in the execution of their
assumed duties, and having speedily digested a scheme of parliamentary
reform, Mr H. Flood was requested to introduce in the house of com-
mons a bill in accordance with the views they had adopted.

On the 29th November, 1783, Mr Flood moved for leave to bring
in a bill for the more equal representation of the people in parliament.
He was replied to by the attorney-general, who, among other objec-
tions, urged its origin from an armed body, as inconsistent with the
freedom of the house. " We sit not here," he said, " to register the
edicts of another assembly, or to receive propositions at the point of the
bayonet ;'' and after some expressions of praise due to their former merits,
he added, " but when they turn aside from this honourable conduct —
when they form themselves into a debating society, and with that rude
instrument, the bayonet, probe and explore a constitution which re-
quires the nicest hand to touch, I own my respect and veneration for
them is destroyed. If it will be avowed that this bill originated with
them, I will reject it at once, because I consider that it decides the
question, whether this house or the convention are the representatives
of the people, and whether this house or the volunteers are to be
obeyed." Mr Flood defended his motion and the volunteers with
great power, but with a speciousness somewhat too apparent, and after
several able speeches from Sir H. Languishe, Mr Ponsonby, and Mr
Fitzgibbon, who had all opposed the motion on the same ground, it
was rejected by a large majority. The delegates had, on their part,
omitted no expedient which might be presumed to lend weight and
influence to their orator. They crowded into the galleries and pas-
sages in their uniforms, and listened in stern impatience to this dis-
cussion. The house expressed its sense of this method of interference
in a strong resolution.

In the mean time, the convention continued to sit. Lord Charle-
mont, after two hours, receiving no intelligence from the house, and
justly surmising what had occurred, prevailed on them to adjourn till
Monday. On Monday, soon after they had come together, a delegate
arose to harangue against the proceedings of the house of commons;
but lord Charlemont had foreseen this, and fully appreciated the dan-
ger of a new impulse which might have the effect of hurrying them
forward in the course of indiscretion to which they seemed but too
well inclined. He accordingly interposed, and prevailed upon them to
adopt the parliamentary rule, that nothing said in one house should
be noticed in another. His most anxious and continual vigilance was
nevertheless barely sufficient for the prevention of that collision which
he feared. So great was the tendency to gather heat and impulse,

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 203

displayed in this assembly, which had manifestly survived its nobler
functions, and was rapidly degenerating into the blind and precipitate
organ of revolutionary movement. Under such circumstances, the
moderation, sagacity, and firmness, of lord Charlemont are seen to
eminent advantage. Numerous letters and addresses from the different
volunteer corps appealed to his patriotism, and besieged his resolu-
tion. Having won golden opinions as the leader of those movements
from which most signal advantages had resulted, he had next to resist
and repress the passions and the zeal, not according to wisdom, which
had derived ardour and impulse from success. The difficulty was in-
creased by the encouragement which the volunteers received from Mr
Flood, their lieutenant-colonel, whose vast rhetorical talents gave him
a stormy sway over the minds of a body of men already fired into
more than the ordinary heat of factions.

Many circumstances had, nevertheless, for some time previous to the
incidents here related, been tending to bring about their dissolution.
Like all popular bodies, they sustained the ordinary effects of tumul-
tuary action. They first overshot the principle of their organization;
next, brought forth division, raised resistance, and became subject to
individual dictation. The government followed their motions with a
vigilant eye, and took advantage of each unwary step ; the institution
of the fencible regiments thinned their ranks, and deprived them
largely of their officers; the moderation of one part divided them from
the violence of others ; and when, by the tumultuary proceeding just
related, they came into collision with the house of commons, they had
ceased to be formidable as an army, and were reduced to a factious
party, which the better part of their own leaders lent a hand to repress.

After much violent feeling had been shown, the temper and discre-
tion of lord Charlemont at length prevailed in bringing back the meet-
ing to their original object, and after some motions in favour of re-
form, and a short address in vindication of themselves and the motives
of their conduct, they consented to an adjournment sine die. Some
further reflections of a more general nature will find a more appro-
priate place in a future page, when we shall have to take up the thread
of our historical statement, and to connect the occurrences here no-
ticed with subsequent events. We shall now briefly revert to some
incidents in which the personal history of lord Charlemont is more
immediately involved.

During the progress of these political events, in which he had exer-
cised a more efficient and beneficial influence than any other individual,
lord Charlemont occupied a central position in the aspect of all the main
parties. He had the unusual good fortune, at the same time, to head
the great movement of his countrymen, so far as it continued safe or
wise, and to command the esteem of the British government. Having,
till 1773, always kept a house in London, and enjoyed the best society
which its rank, fashion, and literature afforded, he then, at the call of
duty, and with no motive of self-interest, abandoned this most grateful
and congenial advantage, to watch over the birth and early growth of
his country's national existence. With a high spirit of the purest
patriotism, he held back from all the honours and advantages of which
his station and national importance drew continued offers from the

204 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Irish administration; so that, indeed, he often found it a delicate and
embarrassing duty to refuse those favours which other statesmen have
been most anxious to obtain by all the resources of solicitation. From
the turbulent and precipitate character of those impulses which it was
his task to govern, he had often to sustain the difficult part of support-
ing the expedient measures of the government on one hand, while, on the
other, he was compelled to offer uncompromising resistance. In both
of these conflicting duties, he never lost sight of his own dignity and
honour, or weakly bent to either popular dictation or to influence in
high places. He was tender and sensitive, and often felt in secret the
painful embarrassment of his position: but in his public conduct and lan-
guage he showed at all times a noble and commanding front, serene,
unswerving, and unshaken; nor have we in his whole conduct been
able to detect a shadow of those qualities of ambition, private motive,
or any of those sentiments terminating in self, which are so often the
concealed subtexture of political virtue.

On the nomination of earl Temple, in 1782, to the Irish govern-
ment, he received from that nobleman a kind letter to conciliate his
support. Earl Temple well merited the approbation and support of a
man like lord Charlemont. His administration was graced by the in-
stitution of the knights of St Patrick ; and in accepting the riband of
that order, lord Charlemont was felt to pay, as well as receive, a com-
pliment. Earl Temple carried stern and unsparing reform into every
branch of the executive department, and on his departure, in the fol-
lowing year, he was escorted by the Irish volunteers, who lined the
streets through which he passed to the sea-side.

With the earl of Northington who succeeded, lord Charlemont was
on the same good terms, was cultivated as assiduously, and was enabled
to be of the most efficient use in the conduct of many difficult affairs ;
insomuch, that lord Northington was impressed with a sense of the dis-
advantage of his not occupying a seat in the privy council. Having
taken the steps essential for such a purpose, he wrote a flattering let-
ter to lord Charlemont, who, in reply, made his consent conditional on
the same offer being made to his faithful friend, Henry Grattan. The
suggestion was at once complied with.

We have next to mention an incident of lord Charlemont's life,
which must, at the time of its occurrence, have been more peculiarly
an unmixed gratification to his characteristic tastes, and should now
be commemorated as an honour and a distinction more noble and
permanent than can ever be found in the transient vicissitudes of poli-
tical revolution. In 1786, he was elected president of the Royal
Irish Academy, an institution which — next to, or rather concurrently
with, the university of Dublin — has done more to raise the character
of Ireland and Irishmen among the more civilized nations of Europe,
than all other causes, of whatever kind. We cannot consent to give
our account of this highly distinguished institution in the close of a
memoir; it is complicated with too many illustrious recollections, and
too many truly glorious results. We shall therefore find a more appro-
priate place, in which these details may be less interrupted, and less an
interruption. The Royal Irish Academy was, like many other institu-
tions of the same kind, the fruit of repeated, and till then, unsuccessful

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 205

effort on the part of eminent literary and scientific men, to establish
some centre for communication and concert, in which the various
branches of human inquiry might impart mutual light, and by compari-
son and juxtaposition, be seen in their relative positions to the whole, or
to each other — a thought expressed in the preface to the first volume
of the Transactions, and amply verified in the comprehensive and har-
monious range of modern science. We shall only here add, that it
was the child of the university, of which its earliest working members
were the most distinguished fellows, and from which it has ever since
derived its principal constituency; so that it may, indeed, be not un-
aptly compared to the main outlet from which the streams of academic
research are communicated to the world — a relation equally honour-
able to both. The first sitting of the academy appears from its
Transactions to have taken place in 1785, and its first published essay
was " An account of the Observatory belonging to Trinity College,
Dublin, by the Rev. Henry Usher, senior fellow." The preface to
the volume was from the pen of another eminent member of the uni-
versity, the Rev. Robert Burrowes. The Rev. Matthew Young also
communicated some curious and important papers on the quadrature of
simple curves, and on the extraction of cubic and other roots. These,
with other very able and interesting papers on most branches of
human inquiry, filled the first volume, which was published in 1787.

Lord Charlemont did not view the position of president to the
academy as a mere honorary distinction, but appeared mostly in his
place, and actively co-operated in the objects of the institution. In
the first session, he read an essay to prove, from the works of Fazio
Delli Uberti, an ancient Florentine writer, the antiquity of the Irish
woollen manufacture. He also, in 1 789, read an essay on a custom in
Lesbos, where the eldest daughter holds, in regard to inheritance, the
ordinary rights of primogeniture.

The numerous political occurrences which took place during the
remainder of lord Charlemont's life, may, for the present, be passed
over, with slight exceptions. He was beginning to feel the approaches
of old age ; and a constitution never robust, was every year more af-
fected by infirmities, which diminished his activity, and, except on ex-
traordinary occasions, circumscribed his intercourse with the world.
His home, nevertheless, continued to be the frequent resort of litera-
ture and politics; so that, to the very last, he was enabled to enter
efficiently into the best interests of the country.

The volunteers, to the latest moment of their existence, continued
to be chief objects of his parental care. Owing to the several causes
to which we have already taken due care to call the reader's attention,
they had continued slowly to decline from their numerical strength and
national importance. While they continued to be objects of secret
suspicion and dislike to the government, they had quickly reached that
point of transition in which their character became more than ques-
tionable to every sober wellwisher to Ireland. Had they been unhappily
placed under a less cautious and firm guidance than that of lord Charle-
mont, it is sufficiently apparent to what they tended. From a patriotic
array in defence of Ireland, they had assumed a political existence;
and thus transformed, were obviously passing through that well-known

206 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

series of changes which end in the manifestation of a power and a
will inconsistent with any event but revolution. They had also attain-
ed a point in this advance, at which it became as unsafe to attempt to
put them down, as to permit their continued existence.

Lord Charlemont made it still his chief care to watch over their
diminished and diminishing ranks, until they ceased to have even a
nominal existence. In Mr Hardy's ample memoir, we find numerous
interesting notices of his lordship's visits to the north, to review his
corps; and there is considerable interest in the occasional instances in
which the military rank of his lordship, and military character and
merits of the volunteers, are recognised by the officers and soldiers of
the line. Their casual meetings were attended by the formal exchange
of the usual forms observed on such occasions in the army; and
upon one occasion, when his lordship passed through Nenagh, on
his way to Limerick, there happened to be no volunteers in the
town, and a party of the 1 8th light dragoons, quartered there, insist-
ed on mounting guard at his door during the evening, and next
morning escorted him on his way, as far as he would permit. This
incident, however, occurred at an early period of the history of
the volunteers, while it was judged by the government yet expedi-
ent to mask in courteous flattery the fear and suspicion which from
first to last this anomalous force was adapted to inspire. At the
time which we have now reached, their palmy day had passed —
their own indiscretions, and the dexterity of the government, had
slowly but surely stripped them of the stamp of constitutional recog-
nition, which had a substantial effect in altering and subduing the
revolutionary temper which it could not wholly suppress: there was
thus infused, amid all their democratic ardour, a saving sense of a con-
nexion with the government; and the same convention had as useful
an influence on the public mind, as well as on the army, into the ranks
of which their best materials were presently absorbed. A clinging
sentiment of their past importance still held together a feeble and un-
imposing band, which had ceased to be formidable, and were permitted
to exist, because the mandate of suppression might have easily awak-
ened a spirit not yet altogether extinct. Lord Charlemont is repre-
sented as still devoting his time and care to this remnant, both for the
reasons here stated, and also to prevent their falling into dangerous
hands. The decline of the Irish volunteers, thus left to the influence
of circumstances, was slow, and the body preserved a languishing ex-
istence long after it had ceased to be an instrument of change. In
1790, we find lord Charlemont still engaged in his military duty of
reviewing his corps at Armagh. At that time, when other dangerous
elements were fast spreading in the social atmosphere, which would
have made such a force tenfold more dangerous, it had happily lost its
political existence and form, and was receiving from its old commander
these attentions which might be described as the last pious offices
before its departure. Reflecting on the common feelings of mankind,
it will be no impeachment of his lordship's wisdom to surmise that
other natural sentiments must have warmed his breast while witness-
ing the degeneracy of a body of which the power, the splendour, and
services, had been the prominent means of his own national exaltation.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 207

Notwithstanding his strong sense of the real dangers attending their
transient ascendancy, and the honourable efforts and vigilance by
which he had mainly helped to turn away those dangers, it was not
in nature that he should not keenly feel the contempt into which they
were beginning to fall, and resent the secret and dexterous hostility
which had followed them throughout. We cannot help the conviction,
that while his lordship still journeyed to perform the once animating
office of inspecting and reviewing their dwindled ranks, that he was more
or less affected by that deep-seated tenacity of the pride and glory of
a better day, which we hold to be inseparable from the heart. With
whatever private sentiments he was impressed in his visits to the north,
and in the review of the last remains of the volunteer army of Ireland,
there can be no doubt of the justness of his opinions on the subject,
or of the perfect good sense and true patriotism with which he con-
ducted, to its last moment, a movement which, in its period of strength,
he had mainly conduced to govern to the safest and most beneficial
results. Such movements have been seldom so directed; and we dwell
on the fact, because we consider it his lordship's claim to the grateful
recollection of his country.

At this time, his lordship had attained his sixty-second year, and
had suffered considerably from infirmities and complaints contracted
by a delicate frame, during a life of great activity. He still continued
to take a lively interest in the whole conduct of political concerns,
and to be actively engaged in most of the main party conflicts, for
many years subsequent to those of which the principal incidents have
been here related. On the regency question, in 1788, he acted as the
leader of the opposition, of which the chief members met at his house,
3d February, 1789, before the opening of the Irish session. He also
moved the address to the prince of Wales, requesting him to take upon
himself the regency of Ireland. About the same time, his lordship
exerted himself with great zeal and activity in the formation of a whig
club. This celebrated body may be considered as a revival of the
monks of St Patrick, and was similarly composed of gentlemen who
were zealous in opposition, and were, or professed to be, zealous for the
rights and liberties of Ireland. At the frequent discussions in the house
of commons, lord Charlemont was a constant listener, and from his per-
severing attendance, it was usual to remark that he was more a mem-
ber of the commons than of the lords. His friends in the commons
were at the time in their highest period of strength, effect, and elo-
quence; and the gratification which he enjoyed from the frequent dis-
play of successful wit, eloquence, and reason, not often to be equalled
within the walls of a legislative assembly, must, in some degree, have
compensated for the painful sensations of regret and mortification
which he was doomed to witness, and the fast increasing folly and ab-
surdity of the popular factions which were at the same time disgracing
and hazarding the cause for which he was a champion, by rash, ex-
treme, and false pretensions. In a letter to his friend Haliday, some
strong expressions escape, which we may cite as indicating the mood
of many a subsequent year : — " My nerves, the constant source of all
my complaints, are much affected; and, consequently, neither my eyes
nor my spirits are as they ought to be. The horrid weather, which

208 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

I take to be unparalleled, may possibly contribute to produce tbese
effects on me; but what alleviation in the weather can produce any
good effects on those wretches in the county of Armagh ? Few things
have ever given me so much concern and anxiety as these nasty broils.
The fools will undo themselves, and I cannot help it." The most true
and wisest patriot that Ireland has ever known, was doomed, in the
decline of his days, to see more serious changes for the worse come
over the spirit of independence which he had so materially contributed
to awaken and to conduct to prosperous results. We shall not prolong
this memoir by entering into the details of public proceedings and
changes, in which his lordship was but one among many, but shall
take up our narrative in other subsequent memoirs, in which we shall
be enabled to offer detailed statements of transactions here adverted
to in a summary way.

In 1761, it was thought proper by the Irish administration to show
their resentment of his lordship's public conduct by an unworthy insult.
With this view, for it is hard to imagine any other, they divided the
lieutenancy of the county of Armagh into two separate governments.
The government of this county had been for more than a century in
his lordship's family. The manner of this injury was more injurious
than the act, as it was done without the decorum of a notice, and the
first intimation to his lordship was from a gentleman who had seen
the new appointment in the Gazette. On learning the circumstance,
lord Charlemont at once took the spirited course which is described
by himself to his friend Haliday : — " Clear in my own mind of the
propriety of what I was about to do, and conscious that though the exhi-
bition of family pride be of all other things the most ridiculous, yet that
there are occasions when it is criminal not to assert one's own dignity,
I immediately wrote to the secretary, signifying to him, that having
been informed by the Gazette, &c., I requested of him to give in to
the lord-lieutenant my resignation." We add some sentences of an
address which he received on the same occasion from Armagh: —
" Your lordship was the sole governor of our county in times rather
more perilous than the present — in times, shall we say, when the
kingdom had no government, or none but that received from the
strength, spirit, and wisdom of the people, so often, and with such
zealous integrity, informed, advised, and led by your lordship."*

In 1 793, lord Charlemont had to lament the loss of his second son,
a promising youth, in his seventeenth year. Many other losses of a
similar nature, were, at the same time, beginning to thicken round his
declining progress, and to mark the silent approach of the last scene
of the eventful drama in which he had been a most distinguished actor.

His latest days were cheered by repeated and honourable marks of
the esteem and honour of his country. Among these might be dwelt
on the enthusiasm occasioned by his departure for Bath, when the
illness of his countess, and his own delicacy, rendered this journey
necessary.

But, as his most prevailing sentiment was the love of his country,
so no honours could compensate for, and no private afflictions out-

* This was the address of 1373 freeholders.

PERIOD.] JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT. 209

weigh, the pain of beholding- the then advanced symptoms of national
confusion, which, spreading from the French capital as a centre,
were growing like an eclipse over all the surrounding shores. The
latter days of his own volunteers had been infected by the earliest
taint of the revolution ; and when, disgraced by the open adoption of
its principles and titles, they Were finally put down with the consent
of their best friends, they had already handed down the fatal taint
which was before long to break out in less equivocal forms, and to
do more mischief to Ireland than their noblest achievements had done
good.

These dark and gloomy details demand a fresh canvass, and must
be pursued in future memoirs.

Our last extract from his correspondence will sufficiently serve to
trace here the declining period of lord Charlemont. "Short indeed must
this note be ; for I am ill able to write, and though from having
swallowed the bark of a Peruvian forest, the malady is now a good
deal mitigated, still I am so depressed, that neither my head nor my
eyes will obey, and second my wish of a long conversation with you.
Bodily disease, and bodily pain, must always affect the mind, and
more especially a mind already sore, from various causes, but particu-
larly from an incessant and painful contemplation of the melancholy
and alarming state to which is now reduced that country, which has
been ever so dear to my heart; and that too, not only from the
wretched mismanagement of others, but in a great measure from her
own fault. To you I need not say how ardently I have ever loved my
country. In consequence of that love, I have courted her; I have
even married her, and taken her for life; and she is now turned out
a shrew — tormenting herself, and all her nearest connexions. But no
more of this, for indeed I can write no more."

The sufferings of lord Charlemont were alleviated still by the cul-
tivation of polite literature, and by the varied gratifications belonging
to the cultivation of the fine arts. On these topics, his letters display
to the last a keen interest and a discriminating judgment. Nor should
we omit to observe that the peculiar refinement of a cultivated and
informed taste is perceptibly accompanied and set off to great advan-
tage by the uniform tone of the most refined and warm affections.
Indeed, the truth of his patriotism (a virtue mostly questionable,) is in
him attested by the uniform and thorough consistency of his entire
conduct and sentiments in all things. Had he never taken part in
public affairs — such a man must have been by nature a patriot: for he
was a good and true man in all his human and social affections.

It is not our intention to enter here on the gloomy interval of
affairs which overclouded his latter years. Even in the latest stages
of an infirm old age, he shook off the impeding languor which would
have tied most men to their beds, to hurry to his post in the serious
alarms of '96.

The discussions upon the question of the Union found him at his
post, fervent in mind, though already suffering in the latest stages of
bodily decline. With many of the best and ablest Irishmen of his
day, he took part against that great measure. The protracted agita-
tion of spirit and nerve thus kept up during a struggle of the most

VOL. v. o

210 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

exciting nature, completed the disruption of his constitution. His ap-
petite departed — his limbs swelled, and it was sorrowfully admitted by
his friends and family that his death could not be far off. He ex-
pired in his 70th year, on the 4th August, 1799. The following
epitaph written by himself was found among his papers: —

MY OWN EPITAPH.

Here lies the body of

JAMES, EARL OF CHARLEMONT,

A sincere, zealous, and active friend,

To his country.
Let posterity imitate him in that alone,

and forget
His manifold errors.

His lordship was advanced to the earldom in 1763, without solicita-
tion, and, as a well deserved tribute of the public services rendered by
his activity, spirit and prudence, in the troubles of that time. In 1768
he married Miss Hickman.

Among the numerous distinguished men of his day, attempts have
been made to assign his lordship's relative position. The rare and emi-
nent combination of high and useful qualities which we have already
described, was, with the advantages of station and property, such as to
place him in a central position among the great men who are to be
numbered of his party. The position is generally allowed, but we
incline to think that the merits to which it was felt to belong, are
underrated by his lordship's admirers. That his talents were not of
the comprehensive and powerful order of some of his gifted contem-
poraries cannot be disputed; but there is a want of judgment shown
in the insufficient estimate of the just discernment and pervading
sagacity, which all his letters and recorded acts plainly indicate from
first to last. His opinions did not receive the development of pamphlet
or speech — nor was he by circumstances led to any of those elaborate
displays of political talent which have their origin more in ambition
than patriotism. Single in his motives, at the same time shrinking
from such displays, his lordship was too happy to find and put in mo-
tion the talents of others. But if it be recollected with what whole-
ness he devoted his mind to the politics of his day, it is too much to
assume that he did not maintain in these the same qualities which are
in other things plainly seen to be the features of his mind. As for the
admission of Mr Hardy, that his lordship was no statesman — we should
be much inclined to make a similar admission for nearly the whole of
the distinguished circle of public men who were engaged in the same
cause.

Jgenrg

BOttV A.D. 1732. — DIED A.D. 1791-

THE family of Flood has been traced into Kent, whence the ancestors
of Mr Flood, the immediate subject of notice in this memoir, came into
Ireland, early in the sixteenth century. The ancestor from whom the

PERIOD] HENRY FLOOD. 211

Irish branch is lineally traced, was Sir Thomas Flood, who bore
several offices of honour and trust in England, under Henry VIII., and
Elizabeth. His lineal descendant, Major Francis Flood, came to Ire-
land with his regiment, and bore an active part in the wars in both
kingdoms, during the great rebellion. This gentleman married a Miss
Warden, the heiress of a considerable estate in the county of Kilkenny.
From this marriage, three families descended — settled respectively in
Farmley, Floodhall, and Paulstown.

Of Major Flood's sons, the eldest, who was named Warden, from his
mother's family name, was chief-justice of the king's bench, and father
to Henry, of whom we are more particularly to speak. Henry Flood
was born in 1732. By the death of his brother and sister he became an
only child. It may be fairly presumed, that his early education was
attended to with a care proportioned to his expectation, as the sole
inheritor of large estates ; though we must here add that his
biographers advert to some informalities attending the union of his
parents, such as on a subsequent occasion to lead to a verdict of
illegitimacy.

He entered college when he had completed his sixteenth year. The
conspicuous station held by his father placed him in the whirl of
gaiety and dissipation, and he was at once diverted from the studies
which led at that time to academic distinction. It was probably to
move him from the attraction of influences which could not fail, in
many important respects, to be detrimental at his tender age, that, three
years after, his father removed him to Oxford, where he was placed
under the care of Dr Markham, afterwards archbishop of York.
Under the active personal influence of this worthy man and excellent
scholar, he began to apply himself with diligence: much also was
attributed to an influence often felt by those who, with the ambition
and power of strong abilities, may happen to have neglected those
acquirements which are always soon found to be essential to their suc-
cessful use : the occasional opportunities of entering into the society
of men of profound and extensive knowledge, and of listening to dis-
cussions in which something more than mere natural dexterity and
untrained activity of intellect was wanting to enable him to bear part,
effectually excited him to industrious and persevering study.

After two years' residence in Oxford, he graduated. His classical
proficiency and his natural powers of language were in the same in-
terval indicated by his poetic compositions, and by highly successful
translations from the great masterpieces of Greek and Roman
orators.

Having left Oxford, Mr Flood entered his name in the Temple, and
some years were passed in assiduous devotion to legal studies. After
which, having altogether spent seven years in England, he returned
to stand for the county of Kilkenny during the administration of the
duke of Bedford. He was elected, took his seat, and judiciously
abstained from engaging prematurely in the debates. He justly felt
that a full acquaintance with the usages of the house, and some prac-
tical acquaintance with the common details of parliamentary business,
would be essential to the most favourable display of his abilities. The
dissolution of parliament soon followed, and he was re-elected for the

212 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

same county. On this occasion, among other friends, we find lord
Charlemont actively engaged in endeavours to secure his return.

Mr Flood was first called up in the house, in 1761, by a motion of Mr
William Gerard Hamilton, that the Portuguese, then at war with Spain,
might be permitted to raise in Ireland six regiments of the Romish per-
suasion. The speech of Hamilton has been described as one of unequalled
effect; among those who replied, Mr Flood was the most applauded: he
spoke from the Opposition benches, and attacked the whole administra-
tion of the government with so much severity, as to call forth lively
demonstrations of popular approbation and ministerial resentment.

In the same year he married lady Francis Maria Beresford, with
whom he obtained a large fortune, and a high connexion. His father,
chief-justice Flood, settled his estates upon him on the occasion, and
a bequest from his uncle put him in actual possession of a considerable
independence.

Under these circumstances, his mind seems to have undergone a
transient change from the more ambitious desires of public life, to the
tastes for rural and agricultural occupations. He retired with his
wife to Farmley, where he cultivated his muse and his turnips, and
formed an interesting centre for much of the talent and literature of
the day. Among the many well-known names which frequently occur
in the record of this period of his life, that of Henry Grattan, and Sir
Hercules Langrishe, are to be distinguished. The marriage of Mr
Grattan's sister to Mr Bushe of Kilfane, made him a frequent visitor
in that part of the county of Kilkenny. Between him and Mr Flood,
a close intimacy soon commenced: they entered together into the study
of politics and oratory, in both of which, Mr Flood had already made
the proficiency of an adept. They wrote and communicated their
compositions to each other ; they argued and often contended together
in formal harangue. Private theatricals, which had long been fashion-
able in the most distinguished circles of society in Ireland, we're in-
troduced at Knocktopher, Kilfane, and Farmley; and the principal
parts acted by persons whose names were soon to find the most con-
spicuous places in the history of their time. These theatricals form
so very marked a feature of social life in that period, that we shall fur-
ther on endeavour to trace them in their line and progress. Upon one
of these occasions, Mr Flood acted Macbeth to Mr Grattan's Macduff.

On the new election which took place after the passing of the
octennial bill, Mr Flood had an unhappy quarrel with Mr Agar, his
colleague in the representation of Callan. It terminated according to
the barbarous custom of the day, in a hostile meeting at Holyhead, in
which Agar was slightly wounded. Agar who was the challenger,
was vexed at having missed Mr Flood, and soon after challenged
him to a second meeting. The following letter was written by an eye-
witness of this fatal duel, and contains the fullest, as well as most
authoritative statement we can offer: —

Mr Bushe to Mr Grattan.

September, 1Y69.

My dear Harry, — I must postpone everything to inform you, that on
Friday last, a duel was fought between Harry Flood and Mr Agar,

PEKIOU.] HENRY FLOOD. 213

the elder, in Dunmore Park, near Kilkenny, in which Mr Agar was
unfortunately killed. As Mr Flood was not the challenger, and as it
was out of his power to avoid it, he has nothing to reproach himself
with. The cause was a case of pistols belonging to Mr Agar, which
one Keogh lost at Burn church, in the riot about ten months ago. I
hear that the unfortunate gentleman had often asked Mr Flood about
them, who always "said he had them not, and was not accountable for
them." But on Friday, they produced a challenge, to my great sur-
prise ; for if there were any offence, it was as much an offence any day
these ten months as it was on that day. They stood at about fourteen
yards asunder. Before they fired, Mr Agar questioned Mr Flood
about the pistols in a threatening and offensive manner. Mr Flood
answered very deliberately, " You know I will not answer you while
you ask me in that manner." Mr G. Bushe, who was Mr Flood's
friend, said something to Mr Agar to induce him to ask in another
manner, and not to bring such an affair upon himself so needlessly, —
but without effect. He laid down one pistol, and rested the other on
his arm to take aim. Both Mr G. B., and Mr Roth, his own friend,
called to him to fire fairly. — N.B., besides the unfairness of using a
rest, it was particularly unfair at that time ; for Mr A. had proposed
they should stand alongside a quickset hedge, but Mr Roth declared
there should be no levelling. Upon their calling out, he desisted, and
took another posture, and fired first, and missed. He then took up
his other pistol, and then said to Mr Flood, "Fire, fire you scoundrel!"
Mr Flood thereupon presented his pistol, which he held all this time with
the muzzle turned upwards, and shot Mr A. through the heart. Mr A.'s
left breast was towards him, Mr A. being left-handed. He expired in
a few minutes afterwards, without speaking anything articulate.*

On this unfortunate event it was necessary that Mr Flood should
stand his trial before he could appear in public, and the delay by
which this object was retarded has been attributed by some to the
desire of the lord-lieutenant to keep him out of the way during some
discussion in which his talents were feared. It was the object of Mr
Flood to be tried by a special commission, instead of waiting for the
spring assizes; and this is the fair history of the delay. But it would
be inconsistent with our duty to omit here to notice distinctly, that
this transaction is an instance of the exceeding laxity which then
prevailed in the administration of justice in Ireland. The special
commission which Mr Flood and his friends were so desirous to
secure, was not precisely what is ordinarily understood by the term.
And the reader who is made aware of the difficulties which were at first
thrown in the way of such an arrangement, may not be aware that the
object sought was a deviation from the regular course of justice, such
as could not now be named without scandal to the high judicial integ-
rity of modern times. It was no less than an arrangement to pack
the bench, for the acquittal of a species of homicide licensed by public
opinion in those barbarous days. A few extracts will sufficiently
explain this. The first letter on the subject is one from lord Charle-

* Life of II. Grattan, by his son,

214 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

mont, in reply to one from Mr Flood ; the following sentence will ex-
plain Mr Flood's request, — " I spoke [to the chancellor] of your
letters as very sensible and ingenious, but think that you a little mis-
took Blackstone. The writ de malo relates to a commission of gaol
delivery, but that which you desire is a commission of oyer and
terminer" Through the whole of October this point was urged with
indefatigable zeal, and the difficulties which interposed might illus-
trate the irregular nature of the proposal; but this point is fully
ascertained |.by lord^ Charlemont's incidental repetition of the chan-
cellor's words. Having begged of the chancellor to apply to the lord-
lieutenant, he goes on to repeat, — " I certainly will, and everything in
my power shall be done ; in the mean time, I would have you to know
of Mr Flood whether he has any objection to the judges Henn and
Smith, who, as the youngest judges, will probably be appointed. For
if he has, I shall take care that others shall be sent in their place."
It is difficult to assume that the lord chancellor was ignorant of the
infamous nature of the proceeding which is plainly enough intimated
in this extract. But it is also evident that there occurred some sea-
sonable interposition to prevent such a disgrace of the judicial office:
whether the obstacle arose from the privy council, or, what is far more
likely, from the judges themselves, this wretched treaty was inter-
rupted when it appeared to have been settled to the satisfaction of
all parties. A letter from lord Charlemont announced that the chan-
cellor had not succeeded in discovering any precedent for the species
of commission required, and that matters were quite at a stand. The
event was, that Mr Flood was tried and acquitted at the regular spring
assizes in Kilkenny.

At this period of his life, it is generally agreed that Mr Flood held
the very first place as a public speaker. Our means of arriving
at any very precise estimate of his style, are few and imperfect; the
reports of the public debates were then but casual, and confined sim-
ply to the line of argument pursued by the speaker, with a few occa-
sional expressions of more peculiar force. It was a time when the art
of rhetorical eloquence had been recently introduced into this coun-
try, and was beginning to be cultivated in the Irish house by a few
eminent speakers. Among these, Flood rapidly obtained the palm of
unrivalled superiority, and it may readily be concluded that he was
forcible, perspicuous, and argumentative. His command of language,
as well as of the varied turns of style, and forms of rhetoric,
seems, from the few specimens which are preserved, to have been
copious and ready. An extract from a sketch attributed to Sir
H. Langrishe, praises him in these terms : — " Indeed, upon whatever
subject this champion of our liberty speaks, he does so with such
knowledge, accuracy and perspicuity, that one would imagine that sub-
ject had been the particular and chief object of his inquiry. Does he
make calculations? — what mathematician more exact. Does he plead
his country's cause? — what breast does not glow with patriotism; he
seems nearly to approach that great original Demosthenes — whom he
so well understands. He has all his fine brevity and perspicuity."*

* Cited in the Life of Flood, by W. Flood, Esq., 1838.

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 215

These praises, though rather too obviously partaking more of the
warmth of the zealous friend than of critical discrimination, may per-
haps be taken as an approximate description of the general merits of
Mr Flood, and of the place which he held in the estimation of contem-
porary taste.

The latter end of lord Townshend's administration was harassed by
numerous literary attacks, which may perhaps, without much in-
accuracy be regarded as the precursors of a more serious and effective
dispaly of opposition to the existing state of things. Among these
may be distinguished a collection of satirical pieces, published under
the name of " Barateriana," of which the fundamental notion was
taken from Don Quixote, and in which the lord-lieutenant was repre-
sented in the character of Sancho. This was the joint production of
Langrishe, Grattan, and Mr Flood. Among these there are many
letters which have been ascertained on the clearest evidence to have
been the composition of Mr Flood : they are distinguished by their
copious command of topics, and by the prompt ingenuity with which
every topic is made available for the purpose of the writer. They do
no discredit to the character of Mr Flood as an argumentative orator.
But with these allowances, some criticism of a different character
must be mixed : while these letters by their general ability, do high
credit to their author, they clearly prove that Mr Flood was not, as
some of his admirers have fancied, the author of the letters of Junius.
A comparison between the two styles is facilitated and justified by the
plain and undisguised imitation of Junius, which pervades the letters
known to have come from the hand of Mr Flood ; and as well marked
an inferiority in the use of the same weapons and in the same way,
as strongly leads to the conclusion that Mr Flood was not Junius. As
we do not believe that such a notion now exists in any quarter, it is not
necessary to notice it further. Indeed to any one who has attentively
read the history of Mr Flood and his times, and the letters of Junius,
it is scarcely necessary to observe, that there is in the latter a scope of
sentiments and habitual associations, widely separated both in general
character and particular detail, from the whole known habits and in-
tercourse of Mr Flood. But we must not here pursue the subject.

In 1773, Mr Flood paid a visit to England, where he received the
attentions due to his character and distinguished qualifications. On
this occasion, it is said to have been principally his object to impress
lord North with opinions favourable to the commerce of Ireland, and
also upon the subject of a tax on absentees.

In 1 775, when lord Harcourt held the office of chief governor in
the Irish administration, Mr Flood was pressed to accept the vice-
treasurership, one of the highest and most profitable offices under
the crown in Ireland. To this, after some demur and considerable
negotiation, he yielded his consent. The step was, as might be ex-
pected at the time, objected to among his political connexions, and
afterwards severely stigmatized by his political adversaries. It would
be vain to hope that conduct, which can, without any strain upon the
ordinary and well-known principles of human action, be ascribed to the
influence of either of two very opposite classes of motives, can now,
with much certainty, be assigned to either. The case, as it may be
stated, against Mr Flood, will be found in the strongest form in Mr

216 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Grattan's celebrated invective, to which, brief as it is, little can be
added or subtracted to make a strong prima facie case of party dere-
liction. On the other side, it must, in fairness, be confessed that, in
Mr Flood's defence of himself on a subsequent night, the charges of
Mr Grattan receive favourable and not improbable explanations.
After fairly considering both, it will be confessed that the statements
on either part come, in point of plain and tangible fact, nearly to the
same, and that the true question remains as to the balance of the pro-
bability in favour of the patriotic or the corrupt motives. Every
point of Mr Grattan's statement may be answered by the solution of a
patriotic, honourable, and expedient motive ; and every point of Mr
Flood's by a probable imputation. It was unquestionable that Mr
Flood accepted of a lucrative office at a time when he and the party
to which he was understood to belong were essentially an opposition;
but it is obvious enough that there was room to conclude that, in so
doing, he was stepping into the very position in which — to all appear-
ance, and, considering the then state of affairs — he might find the
readiest means to serve his country. If, however, the fact be urged
that, during the period in which he held office, his conduct as a mem-
ber of the house was remarkably altered, that he became silent on
most questions, and observably evaded others ; the answer is ready, —
that this was an essential condition of the part he had taken. His
opposition to the government in the house could be at that time of
small avail; while his influence in the privy council was of much to
prevent or modify such measures as were thought inadmissible by the
friends of Ireland. It is, after all allowances, consistent with our
theory of human nature, to observe that both classes of motive very
usually exist in the mind, — in which elevated and low sentiments
deeply co-exist and curiously combine ; and it rarely occurs that there
is a course of conduct for which mean motives caunot be found or good
motives pleaded. Upon the whole, therefore, when such questions
arise, we think the general tenor of the life and conduct of the indi-
vidual may be thrown into the scale. And if, on looking at the result,
the conduct has led to actual good, it would be but fair to allow that
such good may have been foreseen and intended by the actor. With this
view we shall here conclude that, in the acceptance of a lucrative office,
Mr Flood satisfied himself that he might thereby serve his country
effectually, and that his conduct in office was not inconsistent with
such a view. The charge of having voted with government on mere
questions of party would be frivolous; on many great questions oppo-
sition would, under circumstances, be unavailing as well as inexpe-
dient, which on several occasions, in which something was to be
effected by influence and firmness, it must be admitted that Mr Flood
came forward as the adviser or even the opponent of the cabinet, and
rendered important services, some of which we shall presently notice.
For a more detailed view, we must refer the curious reader to the
statements made by Mr Grattan and Mr Flood, as the fullest and
clearest we have been enabled to obtain.*

In the same year, lord Harcourt's government was farther strength-

* Mr Grattan's will be found at full length in the memoir published by his sou.
Mr Flood's defence may be read at length in his life by Warden Flood, Esq.

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 217

ened by the acquisition of two other important allies; Mr Hussey
Burgh, who was raised to the office of prime sergeant, and Mr
Hutchinson, who obtained the still higher, though somewhat inappro-
priate, honour of being appointed provost. These appointments, to-
gether with that of Mr Flood, were censured by the earl of Charle-
mont. Of this, so far as regards Mr Flood, there is sufficient proof
in the published letters of this nobleman to him. Mr Hardy has, how-
ever, rashly affirmed that an entire cessation of intercourse between
these distinguished persons was the immediate consequence. This is
plainly disproved by the subsequent correspondence which has been
published, and which unequivocally manifests the unbroken continua-
tion of the most affectionate and cordial intercourse. The brother of
lord Charlemont was, in this year, lost in the passage from England
to Dublin, and the borough which he represented, being in the pos-
session of the earl, would have, but for the incidents here noticed,
been offered to the acceptance of Mr Flood. Under the circum-
stances, it is needless to explain that this act of friendship had become
incompatible with the public opinions and station of the noble earl.
He expressed clearly, but kindly, his opinion as to the objectionable
character of the step which Mr Flood was about to take, in thus —
though with the most honourable motives — committing himself to the
stream of influences, so charged with imputation and seduction, and
significantly quoted a passage from Virgil: —

Facilis descensus Averni ;

Noctes atque dies patet atri janua Ditis ;

Sed revocnre gradum, superasque evadere ad auras,

Hoc opus, hie labor est.

In his acceptance of the vice-treasurership, one of the motives
assigned by Mr Flood was the desire to render this office accessible
to Irishmen, as it had been till then exclusively filled by Englishmen.
He also made some stipulations i'n favour of Ireland. In the council
he lent his aid to obtain a limited mutiny bill — the rejection of altered
money bills, and the important concession that privy council bills should
not be defended by the crown.

Mr Flood held office during the administrations of lords Harcourt
and Buckingham. In 1780, in the end nearly of the latter, he re-
signed on the declared ground that the line of policy contemplated by
him was not that which the government had adopted. When the par-
liament met he stood forward, without hesitation, in the character of
an opposition orator, and was complimented by Mr Ponsonby, " who
rejoiced to see the right honourable gentleman, after an eclipse of
seven years, burst forth in such a blaze of eloquence." On this expres-
sion, Mr Flood observed, — " The honourable gentleman has said that
I am emerged from a seven years' eclipse. It is true I supported
lord Harcourt's administration; but was I eclipsed, when, on several
occasions, I went not with them, and stated my reasons for doing so ?
I also supported lord Buckingham. On that eventful day when a free
trade was demanded, was I eclipsed? When a bill of rights was the
subject of debate, did I shrink from the question?"

We have already noticed at some length, and shall again be com-
pelled to enter more largely into the discussions on the repeal of 6

218 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

George I., and the other accompanying acts of concession, which gave
independence to the Irish legislature. We have also noticed the
address on that occasion proposed by Mr Grattan, expressive of the
consent and acceptance which the measure received from the Irish
house of commons. To this address Mr Flood proposed an objection,
which led to a warm and interesting debate. The offer of the British
government went no farther than a simple repeal of the obnoxious
statute; Mr Flood contended for a declaratory act expressly renoun-
cing the right of binding Ireland by the English parliament. And in
truth, reasoning directly upon the facts, it seems not easy to evade the
force of Mr Flood's objection : for the evil had arisen from mere usurpa-
tion ; nor could there be any security in the mere silence of statute law
against the recurrence of similar usurpations, unless in the positive bar-
rier raised by an express declaration of the British legislature. The
changes of some years might materially change the relative advantages
of the two countries; and, up to that time, there had not been any
indication in the conduct of the British legislature, from which it
could with certainty be inferred that the consideration of justice to
the commercial or legislative rights or interests of Ireland would
operate as a restraint when occasion should again chance to favour
such usurpations. On the other hand, the general spirit of the age had
been widely changed; the common sentiments of the British nation
had been enlarged and enlightened, and Ireland had also made many
important steps in moral and commercial advance. There could be
little chance of any act founded on the conditions of a darker state of
things ever again recurring. The mere existence of such evils could
not be referred to as a ground of such apprehensions for the future,
because every one can at once understand how different is the temper
which operates to maintain a present established evil from that which
would originate the same. Thus contemplated, such an apprehension
seemed to imply, that, after the emancipation of her commerce and
legislature, Ireland was to stand still. But while we fully admit that
the practical expediency of an express declaration was not very con-
siderable, we must yet insist on the wisdom of Mr Flood's proposal.
The declaration which he required was assuredly the proper comple-
tion of the measure proposed: and as it could really add nothing to
the actual concession, unless on the supposition of a fraudulent intent,
— there could be nothing of the nature of unreasonable exaction in a
demand that conceded nothing, and sacrificed nothing. Some argu-
ments of no slight cogency for Mr Flood's view, were drawn from the
known circumstances of the discussion which had occurred in the
British legislature, in which great reluctance had been shown by seve-
ral eminent statesmen to concede the principle of right. The contest
was maintained with great ability on both sides; and Mr Flood,
though foiled at first, eventually carried his point.

This eventual success of Mr Flood was promoted by circumstances.
A few weeks after the repeal of the act 6 George I., Ireland was
named in a British act, which laid some restraint on the cotton
trade. It was also favoured by a decision by lord Mansfield on an
Irish writ of error, which brought into prominent notice the appel-
lant jurisdiction of the British house of peers in Ireland. The case

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 219

decided by lord Mansfield, had, it is true, been lodged before the
repeal of the statute 6 George I. But, in giving his reason in sup-
port of his decision, his lordship asserted the right on more general
grounds. He alleged " that he knew of no law depriving the British
court of its vested jurisdiction." Lord Mansfield's anxiety to maintain
that jurisdiction was accounted for by the assertion that he had large
investments in Irish mortgages, by which means one per cent, addi-
tional was obtained for his money.* Soon after, an act was passed in
the British parliament, regulating the importation of sugars from St
Domingo to all the king's dominions in Europe : as such an act had
a constructive application to Ireland, it had the effect of raising a
commotion in this country. The excitement caused by these several
incidents was increased, and a strong sense of insufficient security
confirmed by lord Abingdon's motion in the English house of lords,
in which he distinctly stated the opinion that the king and parliament
of England had no right to renounce the jurisdiction of England over
Ireland.

These excitements were of themselves sufficient to make the British
government aware that something further was to be done ; and, in the
following session, they brought in an express act of renunciation, 23
George III., "for removing and preventing all doubts which have
arisen, or might arise, concerning the exclusive rights of the parlia-
ment and courts of Ireland, in matters of legislation and judicature,"
&c., &c. Of this act the whole language was clear and unequivocal,
and imbodied all the objected points with the utmost fulness.

The contest of opinion, which broke the harmony of the popular
party, was, nevertheless, far from being ended. Mr Flood's argu-
ment had, in fact, been acted upon; while Mr Grattan, and those who
thought with him, continued to retain their first opinion in favour of
the sufficiency of a simple repeal of the previous act 6 George I. In
fact, the opposition which, sustained by the external pressure of the
volunteers, and backed by a liberal administration in England, had
effected for Ireland such constitutional victories, now began to lose
strength by the important ordinary operation of human passions. It
cannot be overlooked that the changes of administration which had
restored some eminent men to the ranks of the Irish opposition, had
thus also infused a principle of division. Nor can we conceal our con-
viction of the effects now resulting from the jealousy which almost of
necessity existed between Mr Flood and Mr Grattan, and diffused
itself widely among their adherents. The protracted discussions upon
the above measure had not only the effect of deeply imbittering against
each other the minds of these two eminent men, who were thus di-
rectly placed in a state of competition for public favour, but it also in-
fused a vague distrust through the country as to the sincerity of Eng-
land. With this a still more operative excitement arose; the majority
in the Irish Parliament had decided for the sufficiency of a measure,
which the subsequent act of the British legislature had admitted to
be unsatisfactory. Here, in the moment of apparent triumph, was
full material for civil commotion, suspicion, and discontent. The

* Harrington.

220 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

volunteers were again roused into action, and the opinion that the
Irish parliament did not represent the people, became the prominent
matter of complaint.

With the volunteers Mr Flood now obtained the highest popularity ;
and when, very shortly after, the memorable quarrel between him and
Mr Grattan occurred, he was addressed by them on that occasion, to
express their sense of his services, and to censure the uncalled-for and
unmerited severity of Mr Grattan's attack. We shall not here enter
into the further details of this period of Mr Flood's life. They have
in part been briefly noticed already, and shall be farther stated in our
memoir of Mr Grattan. Of the quarrel here adverted to it is neces-
sary to offer an outline.

The brief administration of lord Temple was succeeded by that of
lord Northington, in 1783, who was appointed with the celebrated
coalition ministry in the same year. A new parliament met in Ire-
land on the 14th October. In this the Irish had shown their grati-
tude by the exclusion of both their great leaders, and Mr Flood and
Mr Grattan were each compelled to have recourse to boroughs for
their seats. About a fortnight after the meeting of parliament, Sir
H, Cavendish moved that the state of the kingdom required every
practicable retrenchment. Mr Flood, as had been his wont, entered
into some very severe comments on the government, and proposed, as
an amendment, that the " country demanded retrenchment." He was
replied to by Mr Grattan, whose comments were tinged with some
severity. A mutual jealousy had been long growing up between these
eminent men, and both were prepared to seize on any occasion for the
discharge of their animosity. During the previous year the materials
of bitter recrimination had been collecting in their minds; and their
personal hostility was kept alive, and armed by a wide difference of
political principle. Of these motives we shall be in a better condition
to speak when engaged in the memoir of Mr Grattan, because we shall
then enter into many details, which we here omit. For the same reason,
we defer the full narration of the incidents of this memorable debate.
Mr Grattan, as we have stated, replied in a tone of sarcasm; — Mr
Flood claimed his right to reply to a personal charge, and, in defend-
ing himself, retorted with a degree of acrimonious point and with
imputations so very personal and galling, that he probably felt, as the
last sentence of his reply expresses, a triumphant sense of having
crushed his antagonist. — " I have now done. Give me leave to say, if the
gentleman enters often into this sort of colloquy with me, he will not
have much to boast of at the end of the session." Mr Flood's invec-
tive— for such it was — was indeed highly creditable to his oratorical
reputation, and contained passages, which, had they even been the
result of elaborate preparation, would still deserve the praise of highly
finished composition. We shall offer but an example: — "A man of
warm imagination and brilliant fancy will sometimes be dazzled with
his own ideas, and may for a moment fall into error ; but a man of
sound head could not make so egregious a mistake, and a man of an
honest heart could not persist in it after it was discovered." Among
other innuendoes of the most cutting severity was one which could not
fail to provoke, and, indeed, demanded the utmost power of retort. The

PKRIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 221

reply of Mr Grattan remains yet unparalleled among the reports of par-
liamentary encounter, for its condensed and compendious severity. Mr
Flood was for the moment completely bewildered by its overpowering
effect ; a fact which is perfectly apparent in the few sentences of inco-
herent reply which have been preserved. The two gentlemen, after
having for two hours been allowed to discharge their whole indigna-
tion upon each other by a house of commons, which entered with all
the keen interest of a cockpit into this display of rival force, were,
from something of the same spirit, suffered, after it was over, to steal
away for the purpose of following up their quarrel in the way most
usual at the period. After a little time had passed in the confusion
which immediately followed, orders were given for the arrest of the
parties. Mr Flood was taken, but made his escape from the sheriffs.

A challenge from Mr Flood ensued; but, after some days spent in
negotiation, they were both served with a warrant from the king's
bench, and bound over to keep the peace towards each other for two
years. A few days after, Mr Flood was allowed by the house to enter
into a formal vindication of his character, in which he displayed very
considerable eloquence and talent. The quarrel just related had the
effect of putting an end to the acquaintance of these two eminent
orators. The kindliness of Mr Flood's temper has been exemplified
by the courtesy with which, upon a subsequent occasion, he saluted Mr
Grattan when they chanced to pass each other in the streets; this
advance was, however, so coldly received, that he took care not to
repeat it. He also presided at some meetings at which resolutions
complimentary to Mr Grattan passed.

We should next have to relate the incidents of the convention of
delegates, in which Mr Flood bore a distinguished part, had we not
already given as much space to the subject as can well be afforded in
this volume.* In this, as in the incident previously mentioned, there
is among those respectable writers who have noticed these passages of
his life a very remarkable difference of opinion. We should not hesitate
to sum their arguments, direct or inferential, and endeavour to cast
the balance between their opinions for or against Mr Flood, but that,
in truth, we consider them, as reasoning, to be quite inconclusive. We
have already shown that the peculiar course of conduct pursued for a
considerable number of years by Mr Flood, can be within the ordinary
analogies of human nature, referred to either of two very opposite
classes of motives. His deportment in this latter instance carries
with it the same ambiguity. It must depend on the general estimate
of his character, otherwise formed, to which class his conduct is to be
referred. The public professions of men, and the compliments of par-
tisans or friends, go for nothing in such an estimate. There is scarcely
on record a course of action in which the invidious or the biassed
cannot find strong grounds for imputation ; or which the agent him-
self cannot set forth in lofty colours.

With respect to Mr Flood's motion for parliamentary reform, it
may be said for Mr Flood that such reform was wanting; while the
pernicious nature of the unconstitutional resource by which it was, on

* Life of Charlemont.

222 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

this occasion, sought to be obtained, was not equally apparent. The
ultimate tendency of the principles which were then in their first
development, was only made known by the experience of subsequent
events ; nor was it sufficiently self-evident, for most intelligences, that
popular interference has a narrow limit to its powers for good. It
may doubtless have appeared to Mr Flood that the state of Ireland
was still such as to warrant the application of an irregular force: like
a far greater man (Mr Fox) he was more a theorist in political
science, than a profound observer of those laws, according to which
the movements of men and nations must ever be governed : his reason-
ing was that of a lawyer and a casuist, and built on the dogmas,
maxims, and statutes, but not studied precedents of jurists and political
writers: he belonged, with some favourable allowance, to that most
eloquent class of public men who will argue on an abstract case, while
the facts are momently bursting from the grasp of application. From
such an estimate some deduction may, it is true, be made, and some
further apology for Mr Flood may be found in the consideration that
he had hitherto lived and acted in the chaos and confusion of a state,
in which the government and the opposition were unregulated, and in
which the only prospect of a better order of things was in the appli-
cation of that strong external force from which so much had been
attained: and he may have felt justified in endeavouring to obtain it
by the use of the same means which had already been found successful
to such an extent. This view may be enough for the justification of
his conduct on the occasion — so far as such a justification ought now
to be sought. Should any one consider it wholly unnecessary, we
must answer, that, on an attentive consideration of the state of things
then sufficiently noticeable, there must arise a strong impression that
Mr Flood's conduct on the occasion stated, was actuated by no regard
to any consideration beyond the impulse of certain strong personal
feelings. If he was not goaded by sentiments of jealous rivalry and
disappointed ambition, he was more or less than man — he had seen
his vast popularity ebb, and the unrivalled championship, the thunder
of the senate, pass into the hands of a junior,— a rival, and a reputed
enemy. On the other hand, he had been ill-treated by the govern-
ment. Such a position was laden with the elements of desperation.
The force of which he put himself at the head, was the same that had
prostrated and paralyzed the forces of the Castle, and floated his rival
into wealth, influence, and fame. Such motives may have been beneath
his pride, and unworthy of his understanding; but, while we frankly
admit the possible uprightness of his motive, we must observe, as
honestly, that we cannot pay the same compliment to his understand-
ing. It was not a time for the further pressure of parliamentary re-
form in this country; no merely constitutional reform would here have
answered any purpose, save as an argument for some further step ; but a
reform carried at the point of the bayonet could only have the effect of
undoing all that had already been effected. The house of commons,
which should have adopted any resolution under the circumstances al-
ready described, would have wanted something more than reform. The
error in principle does not admit of discussion; it is too obvious; but,
in point of policy, there was, in our opinion, an error not so much on

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 223

the surface at that time, though plain enough to those who look back
along the course of after events. It is a consideration on which we
have already entered at some length. The social state and the poli-
tical constitution of this kingdom were advancing with unequal steps.
The leading statesmen of the popular party took up their notions and
principles from English books, the British constitution, and the debates
in the British parliament: when they harangued on the affairs of Ire-
land they were unconsciously thinking of England. They who now
read their speeches have no very precise notion of the state of things
to which they were intended to apply. A great step in advance had
been made, — when the independence of the judges, the free trade, and
the independence of parliament had been secured. For the sound
working of these measures, something more was wanting. It is a mis-
take into which statesmen are but too liable to fall — the idea that a sys-
tem of enactments can amount to national prosperity — whereas, on the
other hand, every measure in its application is wholly modified by cir-
cumstances on which legislation has no power. No freedom or no
laws could have secured prosperity or good government to Ireland, or
happiness and respectability to the people, until they had first made
some advances wholly dependent on peace. We have already taken
some pains to show the necessary progress of wealth, prosperity, and
civil order, when subject to no interference from popular movements.
When once fairly ingrafted, civilization with its consequences depend
on quiet, and the workings of law depend on civilization. The
tyranny of one stage of civilization drops away link by link, accord-
ing to a law not in the will of cabinets and councils, but in the hand
of nature : laws become obsolete by an insensible course, and opinion
works out institutions and enlightened laws by a process nearly as in-
sensible. These effects cannot be, or never were the work of popular
will, — an instrument useful in desperate emergencies, but in these
alone; useful to vindicate freedom, but not to fit people to be free. In
Ireland, the principal want was an interval of quiet; the utmost had
been done that national excitement could at the time effect: and the
balance of force was visibly shifted. Wise men would have applied
their whole strength to secure, to give a rooted existence and a sane
working to the new elements of constitutional strength. To promote
trade — to improve the condition of the peasantry — to remove the pre-
judices which operated against the country, and to quiet the turbulence
which seemed to justify those prejudices, in a word, to look into the
actual state of the Irish people, who were the least cared for, and least
consulted for in a struggle for the sake of which they were excited
into a state of exasperation, fatal to their own best interests. The spirit
of the people had received already some fierce impulses, which a saga-
cious politician would desire to check; and the public mind was already
commencing that most fatal course, which was to receive no effectual
check, until it obtained a permanent form, and became the parent of
all our subsequent calamities. The impression was then just beginning
to be communicated of an unreclaimable hostility to order and law —
a temper which would find cause of complaint in any change of cir-
cumstances, and which could only be civilized by an iron domination ;
and which by the impression of national fickleness and faithlessness

224 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

•which it communicated, effectually drove commercial confidence, and
the outlay of capital from a country which offered the best advantages
to industry. Such charges, were it necessary, we should be among the
most strenuous to repel. But in that day, lessons were taught in
Ireland, which have never since ceased to be evil.

Whatever conclusion may be arrived at by the historian, on the
conduct of Mr Flood, according to the aspect in which the events and
politics of the time may present them to his view: whether his actions
are to be explained by the impetuous ambition of a proud spirit, dis-
appointed in its aims, and jealous of its old pre-eminence; or of mis-
taken or just views of national interest, or of the mingled and com-
plicated tissue of human impulses, motives and opinions which can be
traced in the course of most men of whom distinct note has been ever
taken and preserved: one thing will suggest itself to most readers of
his history; — that he was at this time in a position, in which if he
was susceptible of the feelings of declining influence and disputed
popularity, they must have been often and painfully excited in his
breast. The beginning, and all the earlier years of his career had
been such as to place him first among those to whom the kingdom
looked as the champions of her rights and interests : and an un-
disputed pre-eminence of political talents, must at the same time have
suggested hopes no less ambitious than we may admit them to have
been honourable. But he was in his age, and under the infliction of
a painful infirmity, with declining health and abated physical powers,
— doomed to the pains, anxieties, and jealousy of a strenuous rivalry
with youth, enthusiasm, and transcendent talents. If, as we can
readily admit, he was firm in conscious integrity, he must have
withered under the painful sense of misrepresentation: if, as is not
utterly impossible, the reproaches of a rival had found any echo in his
breast, he must have been also touched by other feelings not much less
painful ; in either case he must have been more than human, if he was
not mortified by the defection and dissent of early admirers and
followers, the assaults of rivals, and the ultimate results of much labour
and many high expectations. If such conjectures, or any part of them
have any foundation in truth, the reader will easily comprehend the
relief to Mr Flood, which must have grown out of the prospect of
being transferred to another scene of effort : a broader and loftier
scope for the exertion of his powers was thus presented in prospect :
and the dignity of a seat in the British senate appeared more than
equivalent to the loss of influence in that of his own country. But
such a change offered a still stronger recommendation to feelings
wounded by an insult received from the British minister, in advising
the king to strike his name off the lists of the privy council.

At this period, Mr Flood entered into treaty with the duke of
Chandos for a borough belonging to this nobleman. The duke appears
to have been a warm admirer of Mr Flood, and to have belonged to
the same political school: there had been some correspondence as well
as friendly intercourse between them, of which there are traces at an
earlier period, to be found in the printed correspondence of Mr Flood
and his friends. In October, 1783, we find a letter to Mr Flood from
the duke of Chandos, on the subject of Mr Flood's election to the

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 225

borough of Winchester, which was in the nomination of the duke.
Mr Flood, unwilling to occupy a dependent seat, purchased his elec-
tion at the cost of four thousand pounds.

It was on the third of December, at the close of a long debate on
Mr Fox's East India bill, that Mr Flood entered the English house
of commons for the first time as a member. His intention was to vote
with Mr Pitt against this measure: it was perhaps a wonted impulse
that prompted him to rise, with a view to say a few words on the
principle of the bill. His fame had travelled before him, and expecta-
tion had been strongly excited among the members, so that the instant
effect of his standing up, was to recall to their places many who were
about to retire — to cause silence, and the appearance of universal
attention. According to the received account, Mr Flood at once
caught the feeling of the house, and could not resist its effect: he re-
coiled from the idea of disappointing a popular sensation, which was
flattering to his pride, and suffered himself to be carried on into de-
tails, for which it is generally assumed he had made no previous pre-
paration. Of this we must, by the way, assert our doubt. For many
days previous to the debate on the India question, he had received
several letters and enclosures on the subject from the duke of
Chandos,* and it may be presumed from others, anxiously urging his
journey that he might take a part in the discussion on the second
reading of Mr Fox's bill ; on the very night of the debate, he
arrived, after a forced march which it is not easy to disjoin from some
specific purpose. It is true that he cannot have had the full advantage
of the voluminous documentary papers which lay on the table: but for
any purpose of a display of oratory, or for a statement of general prin-
ciples, such a laborious investigation was unnecessary. He, however, still
laboured under many disadvantages. Among others, that of a long and
fatiguing j ourney : and were we even to assume that he had fully meditated
the subject with a view to take a part in its discussion, yet it must be
understood by every one who has been in the habit of public speaking
(or indeed private conversation,) that the effect of bodily fatigue, or
any cause which depresses the physical powers, is to lower the springs of
thought and still more of language. With these considerations, it can
be felt that should we even admit, what some may suspect, much un-
acknowledged preparation, Mr Flood must have arisen at an enormous
disadvantage. His language was nevertheless not destitute of its cus-
tomary correctness — his exposition of his view of the subject, accu-
rate and well digested — he had justly seized all the prominent points
of the subject, and viewed them in the same light as Mr Pitt: a fact
inconsistent with the assumption of an unprepared rising. But
his language was cold, his manner tedious and embarrassed, and the
arguments which he used already exhausted : the charm of eloquence
was entirely wanting, and a coldly correct piece of trite argument was
entirely inadequate to satisfy the demands of expectation, and far be-
low the reputation of Mr Flood. There was, in truth, a disadvantage
of a kind less purely incidental, which it would too much swell this
memoir to notice here — as it cannot be mentioned without diffuse ex-

* Correspondence, Lett. 75, 76, and 77-
vor,. v. p

226 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

planation. Some observations we cannot avoid: on comparing the re-
port of Mr Flood's speech on this occasion, with those of his most
important speeches in the Irish parliament, we cannot discover in the
latter any very decided marks of superiority either in style or substance :
and we are very much inclined to think that the disappointment
attending his debut in the British House, is, in part at least, to be
attributed to the effects of comparison and a fallacious estimate. Mr
Flood's very high ratiocinative powers had a value in the Irish house,
increased by the circumstance that they were there a distinction. In
England, where men were accustomed to listen to Burke, Pitt, and
Fox, orators who in their different styles had carried political elo-
quence to its highest perfection, and who combined the powers which
Mr Flood possessed with others to which he had comparatively little
pretension; such an auditory were likely at first to be disappointed at
the best probable fulfilment of expectations, in which the ordinary
exaggerations of rumour had no small part. It has been justly
observed, that his declaring himself independent of both sides of
the house, was likely to raise a prepossession against him in both
parties. The report" given of his speech in Hansard's debates,
nevertheless displays much precaution and tact, and great care to
communicate to the house a full impression of the difficulties under
which he rose. For such statements there is, (it is well known,)
no great allowance; they are a recognised part of the rhetorician's
art; yet it must be allowed that however prepared, he was placed
under some disadvantages. Upon the whole, the effort is con-
sidered by his admirers to have been incautious and premature,
and was regarded as a failure by himself. In addition to these
remarks, we shall extract a passage from Wraxall's Memoirs,
which contains a brief, and we think fair account of the whole
incident : — " Mr Henry Flood, one of the most celebrated orators in
the Irish parliament, (who had just been brought in for Winchester,)
rising for the first time, proposed to speak in the British house of
commons. His appearance produced an instant calm, and he was
heard with universal curiosity while he delivered his sentiments, which
were strongly inimical to the East India bill. Though possessing
little local or accurate information on the immediate subject of the
debate, he spoke with great ability and good sense ; but the slow, mea-
sured, and sententious style of enunciation which characterized his
eloquence — however calculated to excite admiration it might be in the
sister kingdom — appeared to English ears cold, stiff, and deficient in
some of the best recommendations to attention. Unfortunately, too,
for Flood, one of his own countrymen, Mr Courtney, instantly opened
on him such a battery of ridicule and wit, seasoned with allusions or
reflections of the most personal and painful kind, which seemed to
overwhelm the new member." Respecting this incident, Mr Moore
has recorded the following statement from Lord Byron: — "When
I met old Courtney, the orator, at Roger's, the poet's, in 1811-12,
I was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure, and the
still acute quickness of his conversation. It was he who silenced
Flood in the English house, by a crushing reply to the hasty debut
of the rival of Grattan in Ireland.

PERIOO.J HENRY FLOOD. 227

" I asked Courtney — for I like to trace motives — if he had not some
personal provocation, for the acrimony of his answer seemed to involve
it? Courtney said, he had. That when in Ireland, (being an Irish-
man,) at the bar of the Irish house of commons, Flood had made a
personal and unfair attack on himself, who, not being a member of that
house, could not defend himself; and that some years afterwards, the
opportunity of retort offering in the English parliament, he could not
resist it."*

A dissolution of parliament speedily followed, and the consequence
to Mr Flood was a vexatious controversy with the duke of Chandos,
who refused to put him in nomination a second time. Of this refusal
the grounds are indistinctly and partially stated in a tedious corre-
spondence between the parties concerned and their friends, which
occupy thirty quarto pages of Mr Flood's correspondence. To a first
apprehension of the case, it would seem that the duke involved both
himself and Mr Flood in inextricable embarrassments, by want of
proper candour and firmness, in announcing his change of purpose,
with the real motives, in their first conception. It would appear that
he was offended by Mr Flood's declarations of perfect independence,
but was reluctant to say so, and took shelter in subterfuges dependent
on recollected conversations and implied understandings. Mr Flood
retorted similar arguments; and both have, we think, preserved the
appearance of speciousness, by stating the question upon the grounds
severally most advantageous to the stater. The duke urges that he
could not have intended to nominate Mr Flood to a " perpetuity " in
his borough; that Mr Flood had stated his wishes to be confined to
the present parliament; and that he had even engaged to vacate his
seat, should any cause of dissatisfaction arise. But to such arguments
it could be answered, that these were but considerations purely inci-
dental, and never reduced into specific pledges ; while there were cer-
tain very obvious and simple understandings, founded on the general
sense entertained in all dealings between men of honour, on which
Mr Flood had a right to count. The duke had made use of occasional
expressions, such as to impress on Mr Flood that it was his design to
support him in the next election; and such support appeared a condi-
tion so evidently involved in the entire of the transaction referred to
its objects, that no cause of change could clearly exempt the duke from
the obligation of giving a seasonable notice. But in addition to this
consideration, it was asserted by Mr Flood, and admitted by the duke,
that he had actually authorized Mr Flood to take certain steps relative
to a second electiou.f The fairest view of the question is, after all,
that contained in the following statement, taken from one of Mr
Flood's letters to the duke : — " The duke expressed his intention, as
well after Christmas as before, that Mr Flood should come in for
Winchester this parliament .... Mr Flood is free to say that
intentions repeatedly declared in serious matters, and between serious
men, embarking persons of a certain description in concerns of depth

* We are indebted for these extracts on this point, to the industry of Mr War-
den Flood, who has brought them together in his memoir of H. Flood,
f This statement will be found in the correspondence.

228 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

and moment, affecting their whole situation, held on to the last mo-
ment, and till opportunities are lost that cannot be retrieved ; — he is
free to say, that in his mind, and, as he conceives, in that of all man-
kind, such circumstances do constitute a serious ground of obligation
to all the feelings of honour." It would be refining, to an extent be-
yond the importance of the subject, to lay down the precise limits, and
to point out the accurate application of so general a position. The
truth seems to be, that the duke did not himself conceive the objection
on which he afterwards acted, until it was suggested by his attorney,
and by some of the electors. When this communication had occurred,
it was late to repair the effect of any change of intention by a
notice, for which the seasonable moment had passed — while it was
considered by the duke too much to be expected that he should hazard
his interest, or lower his political importance, by persisting in favour
of Mr Flood. In his correspondence, he is necessarily compelled to
touch this fact lightly, and with the utmost caution, reminding Mr
Flood that there is a consideration which is too delicate for explicit
discussion. It might, under the whole circumstances, be not unrea-
sonably expected by the duke, that Mr Flood would see that he was
placed in a position of some embarrassment, and, as is to be presumed
in such cases, take this embarrassment into account.

The correspondence on this occasion was continued for some weeks ;
intermediate parties were called in, but seemed to shrink from the un-
compromising violence of Mr Flood, who evidently aimed to bring the
question to the decision of arms — the savage resort of the time. This
result was averted by the quiet obstinacy of the duke, who held his
ground in the dispute without even recognising the angry tone and
the insinuated hostility of his adversary. We shall only add to these
general statements, that on viewing the whole question, and the entire
correspondence of both parties concerned, we are not quite satisfied
that either appears in the most favourable light. On the duke's part,
there is much of that shuffling which arises from weakness of charac-
ter; on that of Mr Flood, inordinate self-assertion, and a temper in-
considerate of others.

In 1784, Mr Flood received an invitation from some voters of the
borough of Seaford; and Mr Peter Burrowes, then a student in the
Temple, was employed to act as his representative on the occasion.
After two defeats, arising from illegal conduct of adverse parties, which
in each case caused the returns to be vacated, Mr Flood was elected.

Concerning the remainder of his career we must endeavour to be
very brief. On several subsequent occasions he sustained his parlia-
mentary reputation, by displays of high oratorical power, not unworthy
of his best days in the Irish house of commons. He was thus become
a member of the parliament in both kingdoms, and was not remiss in
either.

He continued to engage actively, though unsuccessfully, in the
question of parliamentary reform in his own country. In the year
1785, the commercial regulations were introduced by Mr Secretary
Orde. Against these Mr Flood took a very leading and prominent
part, to which we shall revert and endeavour to do justice, when
engaged in the details of this portion of our history. On the pro-

PERIOD.] HENRY FLOOD. 229

posal for a commercial treaty with Franee, in 1787, his efforts in the
British parliament deserve, and have received, much high and -well-
merited praise.

In 1790, he attempted to introduce a scheme of reform in the Eng-
lish house of commons; but the times were altered, and it was evident
that the question at that moment stood on different and peculiar
grounds. The infidel and disorganizing tendency of the principles
then diffused, with the usual energy of fanaticism, throughout the
kingdom, had awakened a salutary fear in the public mind. Mr Flood
had lived too long in the contemplation of tempestuous and irregular
political workings to be easily alarmed, or to be very keenly alive to
the first vibrations of the wave of change, then in its beginning. His
views had been framed in and for Ireland; and his habits of thinking
mainly adjusted to the peculiar condition of this country. It was also
pre-eminently a part of his temper to adhere to his own views. On
a mind like his, broad and deep, but rooted like the oak to which he
was compared, it is no reproach to say that the powerful, and seem-
ingly unanswerable expositions of Mr Burke, which changed the cur-
rent of that critical time and saved England, had no influence upon
him. But in this he stands with Fox, and many other men of equal
and superior powers; nor can he be fairly depreciated for the want of
that higher and more comprehensive state-philosophy, which so many
able men were bereft of, and which but one possessed. It is, indeed,
one of the curious and interesting phenomena of history, to observe how
little knowledge of the actual laws of human change — of the working
of great social processes — and, in a word, of the moral forces in ope-
ration on human events, there is to be discovered in the government
of councils, or in the opinions of the most eminent politicians. The
power of arguing points — the comprehensive command and array of
facts — the rapid perception of present realities and immediate conse-
quences— and the ready penetration into the actuating motives of the
opponent or the ally: these will be mostly observed in various de-
grees to enter into the combination of qualities which constitute the
statesman. They are easily apprehended by the criticism of the vulgar,
being but more powerful and efficient developments of the common
sense of the multitude. Hence the general error of judgment as to
what is called consistency ; — the apprehension of the crowd will cleave to
names and conventions when (looking to the actual constitution of things)
their sense has virtually changed. And hence, also, in a still higher
degree, the risk he runs of being misunderstood, who looks at human
events through the medium of principles, and consequently perceives
and points out results which a more remote period yet hides from the
narrowness of ordinary vision.

Looking exclusively to the rudiments of constitutional theory, as
expounded by lawyers, casuists, and historical writers, it is easy to
maintain the question in favour of parliamentary reform — a deside-
ratum of all times, while the world endures — and the man whose
learning goes no further than these conditions, must always, and under
all circumstances, preserve one rigid line ; he will maintain the cause
of reform in the midst of universal confusion; he will purify by fire
when the conflagration is breaking out. But it was no time to talk

230 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

about reform in England,* when the foul progeny of revolution was
swarming into every hamlet through the land. We must not, however,
be tempted to digress upon a topic which will call for our more extensive
consideration hereafter, when we must repeat and expand the forego-
ing reflections. Mr Flood was an eloquent orator of the first rank,
and no inferior casuist; he was firm, independent, and took an
honest and fair course ; he was perfectly consistent, according to his
principles of acting and judging, and we must confess that we should
not have here branched into these comments, had we not been pro-
voked by the reflections thrown out among some of his biographers,
who have, with the very common fault of this class of writers, thought
it necessary to elevate him by the disparagement of another, who acted
differently in the same juncture of events. Mr Flood's speech on the
subject of reform, so far as we have been enabled to form any judg-
ment, is indeed remarkable for its soundness and constitutional know-
ledge, and amply supports the character which he possessed.

It may be considered as the close of his career. In the following
parliament he was excluded, as his biographer states, by the efforts of
both parties. He retired to Farmley, where he is represented as suf-
fering from the painful sense of undeserved slight. The sentiment is
such as few eminent political men would, under similar circumstances,
be likely to escape; and Mr Flood's proud, ambitious, and resentful
tone of mind, must have been more than ordinarily liable to such af-
fections. He was suffering from an attack of gout, when he ventured
to expose his person imprudently on the occasion of a fire breaking out
in his premises. A cold, terminating in pleurisy, followed, and caused
his death, on the 2d of December, 1791.

Mr Flood, on the lowest impartial estimate, must be reckoned
among the first public men of his day. As an orator, inferior to few ;
as a political casuist, superior to most. His style, firm, well arranged,
simple, and perspicuous; his method of reasoning always ingenious
and full of art; frequently just, forcible, and satisfactory. He was
master of the general elements of constitutional polity, and on many
great questions used his knowledge with a power which cannot easily
be overrated. In the earlier part of his public life, though living
among eminent men, he was Avithout a rival. In later years, when
he was placed side by side with a few who were of more ascendant
powers and who claimed an equal place, he was, we cannot help feel-
ing, in a considerable degree affected by a temper not framed to be
patient of comparison. Generous, honourable, kindly affectioned, and
a sincere lover of Ireland, his character was deeply tinctured with pride
and self-importance; and as life advanced, in the strife with party and
individual, a large portion of acrimony appears to have been gradually
mingled in the mass.

Concerning those parts of his public conduct which have been ques-
tioned, we have expressed our opinion in the course of this memoir,
with that degree of reserve which ought, we think, to be observed in
every attempt to penetrate the motives of an individual. Without

* Mr Flood's answer to this very objection is an evasion ; bat it is worthy of
his master Demosthenes, as a specimen of clear, pointed, and condensed oratory.

PERIOD.] WALTER HUSSEY BURGH. 231

assenting to the imputations of his opponents, we would deduct con-
siderably from the too indiscriminate defences of his friends; and
were we to enter on a precise analysis, we should incline to refer to
the mixed motives so generally to be discovered at the root of human
conduct. There are few so ignorant as not to have some perception of
the manner in which a lurking self-interest will be spun round and
adorned by the dexterity of reason, with a comely cloud of lofty and
conscientious motives. This is but a reading of the prophet's adage,
" The heart is deceitful above all things," &c. Any one who treads
the common ways of life, and watches, as they deserve, the shaftings of
human opinion, will not want examples.

Mr Flood's bequest to Ireland has been commemorated and com-
mented upon in a little book which is itself an honourable monument.
The following is the actual clause of his will: — " To the University
of Ireland, commonly called Trinity College, Dublin, by whatsoever
style, and under whatsoever title it is most properly and legally char-
acterized and distinguished, to hold in fee and for ever for the pur-
poses hereinafter mentioned; that is to say, I will and direct that, on
their coming into possession of this my bequest, on the death of my
said wife, they do institute and maintain, as a perpetual establishment,
a professorship of, and for the native Irish, or Erse language, and that
they do appoint, if he be still living, colonel Charles Vallancey to be
the first professor thereof, with a salary of no less than £300 sterling
a-year, that by his eminent and successful labours in the study and
recovery of that language, he well deserves to be first appointed. And
I will and appoint, that they do grant one annual and liberal premium
for the best, and another for the next best composition in prose or
verse, in the native Irish, or Erse language, upon some point of ancient
history, government, religion, literature, or situation of Ireland; and
also one other annual and liberal premium, one for the best, and ano-
ther for the next best composition in English prose or verse, in com-
memoration of some of those great characters, either of ancient or
modern nations, who have been eminently serviceable and honourable
to their country — seeing that nothing stimulates to great deeds more
strongly than great examples ; and I will that the rents and profits of
my said lands, houses, hereditaments, and estates, shall be further ap-
plied by the said university to the purchase of all printed books and ma-
nuscripts in the said native Irish or Erse language, wheresoever to be
obtained; and next, to the purchase of all printed books and manu-
scripts of the dialects and languages that are akin to the said native
Irish, or Erse language; and then to the purchase of all valuable books,
and editions of books, in the learned and in the modern polished lan-
guages."

Walter

BORN A.D. 1743 DIED A.D. 1783.

OF Walter Hussey, who took in addition the name of Burgh, our re-
cords are scanty indeed, being confined to the scattered notices which

232 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

are to be met with in reports and among the memoirs of some of his con-
temporaries, who had the better fortune to be commemorated before
time had obliterated the recollections of their personal history. Yet
among the most illustrious characters of a period abounding in eminent
men, there can hardly be named one more truly entitled to the meed of
history. Unhappily, these remarks will also in some measure apply to
several distinguished persons of the same eventful time. Nor are the
memories of Charlemont, Flood, and Grattan, much more indebted to
the pre-eminent situations they filled in the political scene, than to the
fortunate circumstance of their having attached friends or relatives,
who did not suffer them to pass without their record. The names of
Burgh, Daly, Perry, &c., &c., which filled no secondary place in the
annals of the most remarkable crisis of Irish history, must, we regret
to say it, occupy a comparatively slight space in our pages. This is,
it is true, the less to be lamented, as the events and incidents which
should constitute the main portion of such records, are, for the most
part, identical with the materials which compose our more circum-
stantial memoirs; and we may, perhaps, after all, best perform our
duty to the public, by collecting those few scattered lights which oc-
cur in the pages of the historians and political writers of the period.
As we cannot even pretend to exercise our judgment very freely upon
such narrow grounds, we have also to premise that we must adhere
more closely than we have generally seen reason to do to the state-
ments, and even the language of our authorities.

The first notice which we have been enabled to find of Burgh,
places him in the Irish commons as the member for a borough of the
duke of Leinster, in 1768. He then took a conspicuous part in oppo-
sition to lord Townsheud's government. We incidentally learn, that,
in the university, he had been highly distinguished for classical learn-
ing, and for his poetic taste and talent. On his first appearance in
the house he obtained notice for a style, which, from Mr Hardy's
designation, we should presume to have been rather too highly embel-
lished with the flowers of poetry, and with a more profuse display of
classical quotation than would be approved by his maturer experience.
But we are also told that every session refined away something of
these superfluities, and improved him into the most elegant and
interesting debater of his day.

He was at the same time a barrister of considerable business and
high character; and, in the early part of lord Buckingham's adminis-
tration, obtained the rank of prime sergeant. Finding it difficult to
reconcile his politics with those of the government, after one year's
trial, he threw up his office, and his return to the popular party was a
subject of general congratulation.

On the introduction of the question of Irish trade in 1779? by Mr
Grattan's amendment to the address in answer to the lord-lieutenant's
speech, Mr Burgh concluded a spirited debate, by moving, instead of
the amendment, " That it is not by temporary expedients, but by a
free trade alone, that this nation is now to be saved from impending
ruin." This amendment had been previously concerted between
Messrs Burgh, Daly, and Grattan. The amendment to the address,
as first proposed by Mr Grattan, had been previously drawn up by

PERIOD.] JOHN HELY HUTCHINSON. 233

Daly, but several objections having arisen, were concluded by Mr
Burgh's amendment. At this time Mr Burgh was member for the
University, of which body he represented the opinions in favour of
Irish trade. The merit of his conduct was enhanced by the fact that
he then held office. Shortly after, in the same year, and while the
Irish parliament was yet held in irritating suspense on the subject of
trade, a motion was made in the committee of supply to limit the grant
to six months. On this occasion Mr Burgh made a speech, which has
been often commemorated by Irish historians, both for its effects and
intrinsic merits. This was the occasion on which he felt it necessary to
resign his office. Soon after, when Mr Grattan was about to bring
forward his motion on the question of the independence of the Irish
parliament, he wrote to request the support of Burgh, and was
answered, " I shall attend, and if it were my last vote I shall give it
iu favour of my country." When he had made his speech in this
debate, he turned to Mr Grattan, and said, " I have now sacrificed the
greatest honour an Irishman can aim at."

He was, nevertheless, soon after raised to the bench as chief baron
of the exchequer, in which high station he died in 1783, in the fortieth
year of his age. On the subject of his character some fine things have
been said by Mr Flood, Mr Grattan, and others, most of which are
become familiar by frequent repetition, Mr Flood, in speaking of his
death, observed, " he did not live to be ennobled by patent — he was
ennobled by nature." Lord Temple's letter on the occasion, contains
a testimony the more valuable, because it is not liable to the species
of deduction mostly to be made from rhetorical eulogy. " No one
had that steady decided weight which he possessed in the judgment
and affections of his country ; and no one had more decidedly that in-
flexible and constitutional integrity which the times and circumstances
peculiarly call for."

Burgh left his family in embarrassed circumstances. His infirmity
was the love of ostentatious display: his equipage was stately and
expensive beyond his rank and means ; six horses and three outriders
would, in our times, expose a chief baron to the world's smile. Mr
Grattan proposed, and obtained from parliament, a grant for the relief
of his family.

. — DIED A.D. 1795.

JOHN HELY HUTCHINSON was the son of Mr Francis Hely, the name
of Hutchinson was afterwards assumed in consequence of his marriage
with a Miss Nixon, through whom he obtained possession of the estate
of Richard Hutchinson, of Knocklofty, in the county of Tipperary.

He was called to the bar in 1748, and made a rapid progress to
professional eminence. His legal and political knowledge, and dis-
tinguished powers as an orator, soon opened the way to advancement,
and the house of commons was the sure avenue to promotion. He be-
gan as a sturdy ally in the ranks of opposition, and soon made himself

234 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

of sufficient importance to attract the offers of government, in conse-
quence of which he soon obtained his silk gown, and, in 1762, was
appointed prime sergeant.

In this station he continued until 1774. He then resigned and
gave up his professional pursuits for the high appointment of provost,
to which dignity he was promoted on the death of provost Andrews.

Such an appointment being of a nature not merely anomalous, but —
looking to the character and objects, to the constitution and dignity of
the university of Dublin — bearing the characters of a most unwarranted
stretch of power, must necessarily arrest the reader's attention. It seems
assuredly to demonstrate the urgent necessities of the administration of
that day for political support against the growing power of opposition.
It also illustrates strongly the contempt for Ireland, so often indicated
in the proceedings of the Castle. To the fellows, professors and scholars
of Trinity college, in that very time eminent for even more than their
usual reputation of learning and talent, such an outrage could hardly
have been offered by an administration competent either to appreciate
these qualifications, or to understand the more true and permanent
interests of the country. Ireland, then beginning to cry aloud for the
privileges of national manhood, but yet whole generations away from
moral and intellectual puberty, was to be over-ruled by expedients.
Instead of fostering institutions, and endeavouring to spread and cul-
tivate the seeds of future civilization and prosperity, all was sacrificed
first to still the sounds of gathering discontent, and then to conciliate
by premature, yet insufficient, concessions. There was none of the
mild and kindly wisdom which looks to the real wants and actual
interests, and anticipates the growth of a nation. The viceroy, if he
aimed to be popular, acted with indiscriminating indulgence — if not, he
only considered how best the domination of England was to be preserved
whole. To repress the impatient and unenlightened, though in the main
generous clamours of demagogues, and to restrain the over-zealous
and equally uniiistructed adherents — who but too well justified the dis-
contents and complaints which they vainly endeavoured to silence by
intimidation — formed no part of the policy of the English government.
It never entered into their contemplation — that Ireland, though far
behind England, in the civilization of her people, yet comprised in her
higher ranks a large and increasing nucleus of the very highest civi-
lization, essentially English in its entire frame: and that consequently,
whether matured or not, she would never rest content, one single step
short of England, in advantages or pretensions. The dispute could
not fail to arise, and could not proceed without propagating an im-
pulse through every rank. This fundamental and axiomatic truth,
would have demanded from a comprehensive and enlightened govern-
ment, an early attention to the diffusion of the comforts, arts and
knowledge of civilized life. To conduct, in peace, the administration
of a country of which the whole civil system was disorderly, and
to maintain the pressure of a destructive and intolerable fiscal pressure,
was the main end of British policy. From such a policy, the venerable
seat of science and polite letters, might well have congratulated itself
upon a considerable interval of immunity from the time when it was
converted into a barrack by the vile Tyrconnel and the cowardly

PERIOD.] JOHN HELY HUTCHINSON. 235

tyrant James — to the rude and inconsiderate imposition of an extern
provost.

Yet if such an insult and wrong could be excused, it may find its
apolog-y in the distinguished reputation of the person thus advanced.
As an orator, he was the rival of Flood, and in their frequent conflicts,
was generally considered to have the advantage: he was specially dis-
tinguished for a peculiar command of style, which enabled him to be
concise or diffusive, perplexing or perspicuous, simple and plain-spoken,
or splendid and figurative as the occasion required: as a debater he
has been thus described by secretary Hamilton: "he was the speaker,
who, in support of the government, had always something to say
which gratified the house — that he could go out in all weathers, and
as a debater was therefore inestimable." He always contrived to
interest and retain the attention of the house, and in every collision
he preserved his temper and conciliated his hearers by the appearance
of respect. He was a fine scholar, and a lover of classical learning.

Among the recorded peculiarities of his character, was his in-
ordinate and indiscriminate appetite for promotions. Among other in-
stances, a story is told of his having made an application to lord
Townshend, for some addition to the numerous appointments which he
had contrived to sweep together in his own person. Townshend jest-
ingly answered, that there was at the moment nothing vacant but a
majority of horse. But to his surprise, Mr Hutchinson immediately
pressed for it. It may now be considered as matter of more legitimate
wonder, that it was granted, and that being himself unable to serve in
that capacity, his valour was obliged to be represented by a deputy
major. The incident was indeed by no means new — nor are we quite
sure that the following mot of lord North's was altogether original; it
is still highly appropriate. When Mr Hutchiuson appeared in the
court of St James, the king asked who he was: lord North answered,
" that is your majesty's principal secretary of state, in the Irish
establishment; a man, on whom if your majesty were pleased to
bestow England and Ireland, he would ask for the Isle of Man for a
potato garden."

The spirit of exaction without pretensions, and of lax and unprin-
cipled concession thus ascertained, may sufficiently explain the intru-
sive appointment of a provost. The result was vexatious to Hutchin-
son, as it was derogatory to the university. Such an appointment could
not be willingly submitted to by the senior fellows, or by any mem-
ber of the university ; and indications of this reluctance did not fail to
appear. Hutch inson's dexterity supported by the power of adminis-
tration, served him in good stead: he quickly contrived to create a
division in his favour. Unable to propitiate in any way the injured
dignity of the fellows, he successfully appealed to the folly and vanity
of the students. The prospect of converting a seat of learning, a
school of science, ancient literature and theology, into a seminary for
the light-heeled and light-fingered frivolities of fashionable society; a
dancing school, a riding school, and a gymnasium, where young
gentlemen might be accomplished for the ball room and the race
course; where the sons of the nobility might acquire those rudiments
which had been neglected in the stables at home, and where their

236 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

daughters might in the course of time hope to come for similar re-
finements. Such an improvement could not fail to win the acclama-
tions of freshmen — delighted to exchange the categories and predica-
ments for the five positions, and the moods and figures of Aristotle
for the lighter figures of the reel and strathspey. The youthful fry
were quickly arrayed for the gay functionary who came thus attended
with song and dance, to banish the conventual gloom of dark-stoled
philosophy; and substitute

Jest, and youthful jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,

Nods and becks, and wreathed smiles,

the resort and inspiration of Euphrosyne, for the antiquated empire of
the graver muse. Such was the keen and subtle device of the lawyer
and the political partisan: he had read his Sallust to some purpose, and
knew the efficacy of promise on light and undisciplined minds. " Sed
maxume adolescentium familiaritates adpetebat : eorum animi molles
et CEtate jluxi dolls hand difficulter capiebantur. Nam uti cujusque
studium ex (ztate jlagrabat, aliis scoria prcebere ; aliis canes atque equos
mercari; postremo neque sumtui, neque modesties suce parcere, dum
illos obno.vios Jidosque faceret"

The bait was also swallowed with avidity by the public, ever prone
to rush headlong into every new and specious project — purblind to all
distinctions — and happy to be excited by plausibilities and promises of
fancied improvement. The journalists and the little pamphleteers —
then a most ignorant class, more subject to the influence of public
prejudices, than capable of correcting or dispelling them; and inflated
with a low contempt for all knowledge beyond the journey-work bab-
ble of the weekly press — fell into this popular and prosperous device,
and helped with their wonted dexterity to give popularity to the
new provost and his enlightened scheme to improve upon the
humaniores literce.

On the other side, it may well be supposed that there were many
who were keenly alive to a proper sense of the strange and grotesque
indignity thus offered, not only to the college, but to Ireland: and
indeed to all learning and learned men, of every nation and time.
It was seen that the proposed innovations were unsuitable : that
fashionable accomplishments could be acquired at home, at grammar
schools, and from the numerous professors who were ever at hand in
town and country. It was understood by persons a little removed
from the crowd in common sense, that a young logician could receive
the visits of a dancing-master, or attend a riding-master, without the
necessity of investing these dignified professors with the cap and
gown, and dubbing them doctors of dancing or prancing.

But, above all, the senior fellows, as best became their character
and station, exerted themselves to ward off a blow which would have
gone far to obscure the light of the Irish seat of learning. And
happily they resisted with effect; though it is, indeed, to be pre-
sumed that Hutchinson could never seriously have intended to carry
into effect his fantastic proposal. Among the incidents of this contro-
versy, some very curious have been recorded. Dr Patrick Duignan,
a man of a coarse taste, but exceedingly vigorous understanding, a

PERIOD.] BARRY YELVERTON, VISCOUNT AVONMORE. 237

lawyer also, and a senior fellow, took an active part. He published
several satirical squibs in the Hibernian Journal ; and, not content
with writing, he also assailed the new provost with rough and homely
language, which was probably more true than courteous. On these
assaults of the tongue, the provost, it is said, looked down with that
contempt which is equally available on any side of any cause, and the
best weapon when the case affords no better. Some of his partisans
and friends were, however, less moderate, and the Doctor was not
suffered to escape affronts and indignities, which he met and parried
with a degree of humour and dexterity, which must afford material
for a more detailed account than we could conveniently add to this
memoir, and shall therefore reserve for our notice of the Doctor
himself.

We shall only here add on the subject that Hutchinson retained
the provostship during his life. The disgraceful project of the gym-
nasium was of course relinquished, and it is to be presumed that the
real talents and learning of a very able man gradually recommended
him to the members of the board.

He also continued to sit in the house of commons as member for the
city of Cork. As a member of the legislature, it may be mentioned
to his praise, that he took a prominent part in favour of the octennial
bill, the address in favour of free trade, and the bill for the repeal of
the penal laws affecting the members of the Church of Rome.

His death occurred in 1795. He was offered a peerage, and
accepted the honour for his family in the person of his wife, who was
created baroness Donoughmore. Hence the origin of this title in the
peerage.

Yelberton,

BORN A.D. 1736. DIED A.D. 1805.

BARRY YELVERTON was born at Newmarket, in the county of Cork.
He was sent early to the village-school of that town, — a school of that
order so well known in Ireland, and perhaps nowhere else : the reader
will find, or may recollect, its description in Mr Carleton's " Traits
and Stories of the Irish Peasantry." At these schools an extensive
and accurate acquaintance with Greek and Latin authors, and a still
more thorough intimacy with the mathematical sciences, as then
known in these kingdoms, were commonly to be met with in the
rudest hovel, and under the most uncouth guise of dress, manner, and
diction. At such schools, and from such instructors, it might be
expected now and then to happen, that native genius might find its
upward impulse, and rise into the notice and advantages of a higher
level. Such was the fortune of two eminent Irishmen, who nearly at
the same period* received their first education in the village-school
of Newmarket. Yelverton, some years older than Curran, preceded
him also in the school ; and some of the biographers of the former have
noticed the curiously paralleled circumstances of their early history.

* There is a difference of twelve years.

238 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Among other curious anecdotes respecting the early years of Yelver-
ton, it is told that he had obtained the situation of usher in a school
kept by a Mr Buck in North King-street, Dublin. Mrs Buck was an
enlightened economist, and conceived the profound improvement of a
very considerable saving in her domestic expenditure, by reducing the
diet of the ushers to bread and milk — the wholesome and substantial
fare of schoolboys in all generations. The lady's theory was accord-
ingly put in actual operation; and Yelverton, who was head usher, feel-
ing his pride nettled by a change no less ungrateful to his stomach than
derogatory to his station, came to the bold resolution of seeking his
fortune in a higher and more worthy field. Without delay he quitted
the King-street academy, and by strenuous exertions, of which we
deeply regret that we have no particular account to offer, he was called
to the bar in 1764.

At the bar he was unquestionably placed in his proper element; but,
as commonly happens, he continued for some years to walk the courts
without making any progress in his profession. He, nevertheless,
attracted that general notice which talents can seldom fail to meet in
a circle so observant and informed as the Irish bar. Great colloquial
talents are, of all others, the most unlikely to lie concealed, and these
Yelverton eminently possessed. It was a time when party feeling was
just beginning to rise in Ireland, and when the great importance of
such powers as he was known to possess began to be strongly felt;
and, in 1774, he was elected to represent the city of Carrickfergus in
the Irish house of commons. His general character as an orator and
politician are drawn with distinctness and force, and perhaps as much
accuracy as may reasonably be looked for in such portraitures, by
Barrington. He is described as, in their several descriptions of elo-
quence, inferior respectively to Flood, Grattan, Burgh, and Curran,
but, in the command of " powerful, nervous language, superior to
them all. A vigorous, commanding, undaunted eloquence burst in
torrents from his lips," &c. Mr Barrington goes on to describe the
moral features of his disposition; and, among other traits, mentions
that " in the common transactions of the world he was an infant."
From the entire of this portion of Mr Barrington's description, it is
to be inferred that he was a man of extreme simplicity and singleness
of character, with the virtues and failings not unusually attendant on
such a character, and of warm passions and sensibilities, which
heightened and gave an active effect to such qualities. With a spirit
which moved free from the numberless fine checks and disguises by
which the selfishness and inhumanity of the crowd are commonly re-
pressed and masked, he was equally insensible to the multiform refined
conventions which are dependent on the same principle, which grow
up as instincts in the vulgar mind, and regulate, more or less, the
intercourse and conversation of the world. Such a man will often be
observed to err on both sides of the common track, now falling into
strange and grotesque deviations, and now towering in the dignity of
native goodness ; and, being more regulated by feeling than by prin-
ciple, will also be seen to diverge where reason and rule must be
looked to exclusively, or nobly leading the way when impulse and
good feeling are called into operation, and constitute the elements of

PERIOD.] BARRY YELVERTON, VISCOUNT AVONMORE. 239

action. This is, however, a generalization; to what precise extent it
may be truly applied to Yelverton we cannot pretend to say : Bar-
rington tells us that he was, " in the varieties of right and wrong,
of propriety and error, a frail mortal;" and on this we but offer a con-
struction derived from observation and experience. We are further
informed in the same sentence that he was, " in the senate and at the
bar a mighty giant; it was on the bench that, unconscious of his
errors, and in his home that, unconscious of virtues, both were most
conspicuous." Much of Mr Barrington's sketching we can but imper-
fectly comprehend. There was in his day a laboured and ambitious
flow of broken and antithetical sentences, which tempted writers into
the language of fine distinctions beyond the line of precise meaning.
We can, nevertheless, infer from a very uncommon confusion of words,
that Yelverton was profusely generous without the reserve of pru-
dence, and the character may be completed by the following touches
which fall in well with the foregoing description: — "His character
was entirely transparent, it had no opaque qualities — his passions
were open — his prepossessions palpable — his failings obvious — and he
took as little pains to conceal his faults as to publish his perfections."
To this, as we can, indeed, do nothing more, we may add the follow-
ing account of his legal and judicial character from the same autho-
rity:— " Amply qualified for the bench by profound legal and constitu-
tional learning — extensive professional practice— strong logical powers
— a classical and wide ranging capacity — equitable propensities, and
a philanthropic disposition — he possessed all the positive qualifications
for a great judge." In counterbalance to these characteristics, we
are told that he "received impressions too soon, and perhaps too
strongly; he was indolent in research, and impatient in discussion,"
&c. Every one will recollect the well-known relation of an amusing
instance, in which Mr Curran practised with considerable effect on this
temper of mind.

We have already given some account of the monks of St Patrick,
otherwise called " Monks of the Screw " — a political and convivial
society, from which may be traced the first dawnings of that spirit
which afterwards gave so much energy and talent to the political
struggles of Ireland in the last century. This body was formed by the
subject of this memoir, in 1779 — it comprised all that was distinguished
for wit and talent at the time. The place of their meeting was in
Kevin street; and, consisting chiefly of barristers and members of par-
liament, they were accustomed to meet in term time on Saturdays. In
these meetings they seem to have kept up, in some measure, a travestied
imitation of certain conventual formalities — the chapter at which the
abbot presided, and at which the members wore black robes, was held
before commons : a grave deportment gave poignancy to the sallies of
occasional but still not intemperate humour, for which it offered ma-
terials and a decorous mask. From the members are said to have
emanated most of the literary political productions which obtained de-
cided effect in the great popular struggle which followed. Among the
most eminent members, besides the founder, were Curran, Day (senior
fellow), Arthur Browne (the fellow), Burgh, earl of Charlemont, Corry,
Daly, Day (the judge), Doyle (afterwards major-general and a baro-

240 POLITICAL SERIES.

net), Grattan, earl of Mornington, G. Ogle, Ponsonby, Sir Michael
Smith, Stack (fellow), marquis of Townshend, Arthur Wolfe (lord
Kilwarden). These we select, not as the highest in rank, but as best
known to the reader, from upwards of fifty-eight, all men of high re-
pute in their generation. The society lasted until 1795. We shall
hereafter give other curious details. But it is here that we may most
fitly mention an incident connected with the recollections of the insti-
tution, which may be in some degree considered illustrative, both of
the character of the meeting, and of the distinguished subject of this
notice. In a trial, on which lord Avonmore sat as judge, Mr Curran
was one of the counsel for the defendant: there had for some time
previous existed a coldness between these eminent men. On this trial
Mr Curran took occasion to appeal to the sensibility of his old friend,
in the following allusion to the meetings of the club :— " This sooth-
ing hope I draw from the dearest and tenderest recollections of my
life — from the remembrance of those attic heights and those refections
of the gods, which we have spent with those admired, and respected,
and beloved companions who have gone before us; over whose ashes
the most precious tears of Ireland have been shed. [Here lord Avon-
more could not refrain from bursting into tears/] Yes, my good lord,
I see you do not forget them. I see their sacred forms passing in
sad review before your memory. I see your pained and softened fancy
recalling those happy meetings, where the innocent enjoyment of social
mirth became expanded into the nobler warmth of social virtue, and
the horizon of the board became enlarged into the horizon of man —
where the swelling heart conceived and communicated the pure and
generous purpose — where my slenderer and younger taper imbibed its
borrowed light from the more matured and redundant fountain of
yours. Yes, my lord, we can remember those nights without any
other regret than that they can never more return ; for

" We spent them not in toys, or lust, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poesy ;
Arts which I loved ; for they, my friend, were thine."

The sequel to this incident is truly and affectingly characteristic —
it had the effect of reconciling these two distinguished men. " At the
moment the court rose, his lordship sent for his friend, and threw him-
self into his arms, declaring that unworthy artifices had been used to
separate them, and that they should never succeed in future."*

While yet a member of the house of commons he took an active and
effectual part in the struggle for the trade and legislative independence
of his country. But he had also the rare wisdom to see where to
stop, and to mark the point where a popular revolution has gone to
the utmost length to which its results can be salutary, and at which a
violent reaction or the dissolution of society must be the next steps:
a wisdom more wanting in Ireland than elsewhere, not so much, in-
deed, from any defect in the moral constitution of our people — though
to this, too, some effect is due — as to the peculiar position of Ireland;
which we have already, more than once, endeavoured to explain. At

* Life of J. P. Curran, by his son, W. II. Curran.

PERIOD.] UARIIY YELVERTON, VISCOUNT AVONMORE. 241

the period when the volunteers, having fulfilled the very peculiar func-
tions of an irregular remedy, in an irregular state of things — an empi-
rical nostrum for a singular disease — ceased to have any efficiency
but one, which, pushed a little further, would have plunged the
country in deeper darkness and more galling chains, Mr Yelverton
was among those whom the absurd and most childish cant of party
consistency did not prevent from resisting the arrogation of an uncon-
stitutional faction. He saw the fetters weaving for the emancipated
legislature of Ireland; he was not deaf to the revolutionary maxims
that were then beginning to breathe from rank to rank, and could not
well avoid the inference of what was to follow, and what did follow.

In the administration of the duke of Portland he took a frank and
manly part in opposition to many dear friends with whom he had been
accustomed to feel and act, and opposed the violent proceedings of the
convention of delegates. He took the lead in that stand which was
made by the commons against the motion of Mr Flood, on November
29, 1783, to bring in a bill of parliamentary reform, on the ground
that the motion was the dictate of an armed body. We have already
related the circumstances; and the extracts with which we exemplified
the opposition to that rash motion were taken from- Mr Yelverton's
speech. He was at this time attorney-general ; and it is stated by a
biographical writer that his promotion had been owing to the part
he took against the convention of delegates ; but, referring to dates,
this must be erroneous. The promotion took place in 1782, accord-
ing to this writer; but the convention in question occurred in 1783,
and the above-mentioned incident was the first occasion on which any
noticeable opposition to that body can be detected in Mr Yelverton.
His promotion was due to his place and reputation at the bar. Of
course the opinions, and, in some measure, the conduct of a sound
constitutional lawyer was to be calculated on ; but it could be shown
that there was at the moment a disposition oa the part of government
to dispense its favours among the leaders of the popular party.

This point being settled, it is to be admitted that the able and
spirited resistance of the attorney-general on that occasion was
seasonable, and must, from whatever motive, whether of political wis-
dom or official dutyr have been viewed by the administration as a
meritorious service^

The high and influential station of attorney-general, when filled by
such a man, is necessarily the step to higher honour. In 1784, he
was nominated a privy-counsellor, and raised to the bench as chief
baron.

The rest of his career must here be briefly told. He took the side
of opposition on the regency question. In 1795 he was raised to the
peerage by the title of baron Yelverton of Avonmore. He also sup-
ported the unionk We offer these brief statements; as the events to
which they refer have not yet come in the order of our historical
narration.

In December, 1800, he was further raised to the rank of viscount
in the Irish peerage.

He lived till 1 805, — in the autumn of which year he died.

242 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

BORN A.D. - . - DIED A.D. 1807-

THE claims of Sir Boyle Roche upon our notice are not, it must be
confessed, of a very strong kind. Yet, it so happens that few men of
his day are much more frequently named, or more the object of curio-
sity. The station which he filled in political society was singular, and
is not without some interest for the stray gleam it reflects of the social
character of his time.

He is said to have been descended from a junior branch of the Fer-
moy family. In early life he served in the army, and was distinguished
in the American war. After retiring from the service he obtained a
seat in the Irish house of commons, and enlisted from the commence-
ment in the ranks of the Treasury bench. He obtained a small pen-
sion, and the appointment of master of the ceremonies in Dublin
Castle. For this he was pre-eminently qualified by his handsome
figure, graceful address, and ready wit. These qualities were in Sir
Boyle also set off by a frank, open, and manly disposition, not always
among the ornaments of that gaudy and perfumed station: the stilts
of formality and the stays of fashion were needless appendages to the
wardrobe of the true Irish gentleman of the old school, and, in the
character of Sir Boyle, the English functionaries who came over pre-
judiced against the manners of our Irish capital, and, at the same
time curious about the social powers and failings, the wit and blun-
der of our isle, found themselves agreeably enlightened on these
points, by the fortunate combination of polished manners with the
most native humour and spirit which met them on their first intro-
duction to the castle.

These qualifications of Sir Boyle were, however, destined to find a
wider field of display, and a more important if not more dignified
office. The taste for fun and humour was universal, as it must, in-
deed, continue so long as the faculty of laughter endures; and, whether
the notion was first suggested by the effect of some parliamentary
blunder of more than usual felicity, or was the pure suggestion of
administrative wisdom, it appears certain that Sir Boyle became, in
course of time, a regular and most important ally of the several admin-
istrations of his time in the house, and obtained a celebrity in that
position, which has made his name familiar as any other name, how-
ever illustrious.

Whenever it was thought necessary to soften down the heat
generated in the debate by the overflow of Irish patriotism; to
meet arguments which could not be replied to, by the unanswerable
test of ridicule; or to scatter the force of plain statement by the
brawn shield of burlesque, it was on such occasions that the rich and
mellow brogue of Sir Boyle was heard above the uproar of debate. A
happy knack of twisting facts or ideas, which, in ordinary tongues
would be but common-place, into some unexpected form of comicality,
enabled him to give that turn to excited passion and feeling which
deprives the orator of the better part of his power, and compels the

PEUIOD.] Sill BOYLE ROCHE, I5AUT. 243

accumulated indignation or obstinacy of a popular assembly to evapo-
rate in a harmless laugh. Endowed with this rare and powerful
qualification, it is easy to see how effectually he might be sometimes
called up to charm away the effect of a kindling address from Grattan,
or to retort the delicate and classic wit of Curran, by a whole drove
of the most rampant comicalities of Munster.

It was a frequent subject of observation that the odd style of Sir
Boyle was, from time to time, set off by marks of graver and more
elaborate consideration than could easily be reconciled by the general
opinion entertained of his habits and character of mind. But it was
not as generally known that it was usual for the members of the Irish
'cabinet to write speeches for him, which he committed to memory;
and, while mastering the substance, generally contrived to travesty
into language, and ornament with peculiar graces of his own. On
many of these occasions he was primed and loaded for action by the
industry of Mr Edward Cooke, who acted during several ad-ministra-
tions as muster-master to the wisdom of the Castle. But, still, his
best and most distinguishing efforts were made on those happy occa-
sions when he was carried forward by the felicity of his own genius.

Many curious anecdotes remain to illustrate the manner and the
power of his parliamentary tactics. We shall confine ourselves to one
or two.

Mr Serjeant Stanley, a member who had taken very unusual pains to
concoct a speech of considerable force and effect, and, to make sure
of success, had committed his well-conned oration to paper, happened
to sit near Sir Boyle in the coffee-room of the house, studying his
speech. Suddenly the person who had been speaking ended, and Mr
Stanley rushed out to seize the moment of delivery ; in his hurry he
missed his pocket, and let the composition drop upon the floor. Sir
Boyle picked it up, and, reading it over, was fully master of the con-
tents. He returned to the house, where Mr Stanley continued
watching for his opportunity. The address of Sir Boyle anticipated
him, and, when both rose, the general cry of the house decided for the
wit and humorist. Sir Boyle at once gravely delivered the whole
oration, word for word, to the astonishment and dismay of the enraged
author, who rose and walked into the coffee-room. When Sir Boyle
made an end he followed, and thus addressed the subject of his ex-
ploit:— " My dear Stanley, here is your speech again, and I thank
you kindly for the loan of it. I never was so much at a loss for a
speech in the whole course of my life; and, sure, it is not a pin the
worse for the wear, and now you may go in and speak it again your-
self as soon as you please."

On another occasion the table was loaded with an enormous pile of
papers, which had been accumulated by the successive demands of one of
the opposition members, with a view to illustrate some motion. When
this motion was about to be proposed, it was moved, as a necessary
preliminary, that the documentary mass on the table should first be
read to the house by the clerk. The whole house appeared in alarm
for the proposed trial of its patience, as the reading could not be com-
pleted in less than two hours. A loud murmur arose through the
benches on every side, on which Sir Boyle gravely rose and moved that

244 POLITICAL SERIES. [FljfTH

a dozen or two of the committee clerks should be called in, and have
the documents distributed among them, when, by reading1 all together,
the whole might be done in a quarter of an hour. A loud laugh dis-
solved the cloud of impatience, and the question \vas postponed to
enable the mover to make some more convenient arrangement.

Sir Boyle was created a baronet in 1782.

He died in Dublin in June, 1 807- He was a person of much
amiability, endowed with many attractive social qualities, and was
regretted in a large and respectable circle.

BORN A.D. 1730. DIED A. D. 1797.

THE early history of the family of Burke is generally known; it has
been already traced in these volumes. The Norman race of De Bur-
gho, though it early lost the importance derived from extensive terri-
torial acquisitions and princely rank, has yet, like the Geraldines and
Butlers, survived the ruin of the feudal system, and still continues to
be represented high among the Irish peerage. But the distinctions of
high rank, and the honours of illustrious ancestry, lose much of their
factitious lustre compared with the proud distinction of the noblest
name that has ever graced the records of Irish worth and genius.
The immediate family of Edmund Burke had been early settled in the
county of Galway, and afterwards in the county of Limerick. In the
latter county, his direct ancestors were deprived of large possessions,
in the troubles of 1641.

A small estate, of about £300 per annum, near Castletown Roche,
in the vicinity of Mallow and Doneraile, descended to Garret, the elder
brother of Edmund Burke. Their father was an attorney ; he lived
on Arran Quay, in Dublin. He married a Miss Nagle, of Mallow,
and had by her fourteen children, none of whom survived their in-
fancy but Garret, Edmund, llichard, and Juliana. Of these, occa-
sional notices may occur in the course of this memoir.

Edmund Burke was born at his father's house, in Dublin, January,
1730. His childhood was sickly, and the consumptive habit, which
had probably carried off so many of his brothers and sisters, in his case
menaced the same result. During the period of his youth, he was
subject to a pain in the side, which disabled him from the ordinary
amusements of youth, so that he mostly spent in study those intervals
in which his brothers were at play. As his delicate health was thought
to require a removal to the country, he was sent to his grandfather's
house, in the county of Cork. During this sojourn, he attended as a
day-scholar at a neighbouring school, kept by a person of the name
of O'Halloran, where he received his first initiation in the Latin gram-
mar. There he continued about five years, after which he was re-
moved, first to Dublin, and then to Ballitore, where a school of great
and rising reputation had then attracted considerable popularity, which
was amply confirmed and justified by its subsequent history for three
succeeding generations, during which it was conducted by men of

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 2-15

distinguished talent and learning1, the descendants of the original
master, Abraham Shackleton.* It was in his twelfth year that
Edmund, with his brothers, was placed in this eminent seminary. He
soon attracted the more especial notice of his master, for the steadi-
ness of his application, and the singular aptitude and vigour of his
understanding. Attracted by the undoubted indications of unusual
abilities, Mr Shackleton devoted a more than ordinary care to their
cultivation, while he was no less careful to watch over his still deli-
cate health, and moderate his study, so as to ensure the greatest profit
to his mind, with the least fatigue to his body.

Among those of his schoolfellows most known in after life were Dr
Brocklesby, the eminent physician; Dr Kearney ; Thomas Bushe; andse-
veral other characters well known in the literary circles of Dublin and
London. But the favoured friend of these years was Richard Shackle-
ton, the only son and successor of his master. The chief memorials of
Burke's early years are from the accounts given by this gentleman to
an intimate friend. Among these may be noticed, his speculative
temper — his love of solitary pursuits and musings — a certain reserve
to strangers, who mostly regarded his brother Richard as the more
bright and promising, an opinion not participated in by his master or
father. He showed an early predilection for history and poetry, and
appears to have also indulged to a considerable extent his love for the
old romances. His affections were warm ; and, among his youthful
associates, he was more addicted to indulge in conversation, than in
their lighter and more active amusements. In conversation, he early
began to show the copious language, the mastery of his material, and
the discursive and free communicativeness, which were such remark-
able features of his maturer life. His early animosity against oppres-
sion, arid sympathy with human sufferings and wrongs, was also at this
time an object of remark. A rational and manly liberality of politi-
cal feeling, checked by that love of order which is mostly attendant
on a high state of moral civilization, was then, and has ever been,
characteristic of the quaker society of Ballitore: and a spirit so con-
genial to the temper and genius of Burke, could not fail to obtain an
early and vigorous hold of his affections. His early connexions were
composed out of both those parties by whose animosities Ireland has
been agitated, degraded, and depressed; to this may, in some measure,
be attributed the early impartiality of his opinions on the subject of
the penal laws against popery.

In the spring of 1744, he entered the University of Dublin, as a
pensioner, under Dr Pelisier. In the university, while he applied
with the necessary attention to the well-selected course of study
prescribed to the students, he was induced, by the naturally compre-
hensive scope of his intellect, to take a far wider range than could
have been suited to ordinary powers. The first prominent effect was
not only perceptible in his conversation ; it, in a great degree, dimin-
ished the attention which a youth of his habits of mind would other-
wise have given to the studies of his class. These he simply pursued
as parts of useful or essential reading, and not in the spirit of youth-

* Of this family and school we shall have a distinct notice to offer.

246 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ful emulation. In him, ambition was repressed by the sense of supe-
riority. There were none who had the most remote pretension to be
regarded as objects of competition: nor, among his fellow-students, is
it to be presumed that there were many who could not perceive and
allow the easy superiority of a mind not of their order. His general
diligence in the studies of the place, is, nevertheless, satisfactorily as-
certained by the scholarship which he obtained at the usual time. He
had previously obtained at least one classical prize in his senior fresh-
man year, as has been proved by the evidence of the prize book seen
by Mr Prior, who mentions the circumstance in his memoir; and it is
not to be supposed that he could have acquired the classical knowledge
sufficient for the attainment of a scholarship, without having also been
successful at the quarterly examinations. The error seems to have
arisen by hastily concluding, from an assumption (probably correct)
that he manifested no anxiety for college honours, and therefore he
did not obtain them.

He is said to have given much attention to metaphysics, for which
his writings indicate some talent and much inclination. Hume and
Berkeley are mentioned as having more specially won his attention.
His essay on the sublime and beautiful may be referred to as illus-
trative of this early tendency ; and perhaps, in some slight degree, as
affording a measure of his metaphysical powers. Of this we shall pre-
sently speak more at large. Happily, he was not seduced very far
into a path so unprofitable; but, having early stored his mind with ma-
terials too various, weighty, useful, and abundant, to leave room or
inclination for the word-splitting pursuits of the schools; and having
an understanding far too earnest, active, and vigorous, to be satisfied
with such reasonings and such results, he turned his attention to the
interests of his country and mankind.

The same colloquial gifts, altogether, we believe, unparalleled in
abundance, scope, or brilliancy, which form so very remarkable a por-
tion of the character of Burke, were developed at an early age: we
cannot doubt that these were mainly instrumental in the formation of his
intellectual tendencies. The fluency, sometimes observable in persons
of narrow attainment, may be the means of confirming prejudices; and,
by trite repetitions, turning the intellect into fixed channels of thought
and matter: it still oftener generates a habit of thinking crudely: the
glib freedom of the rapid brain glides smoothly over depths, and, un-
checked by difficulties it fails to perceive, quickly gains it point. On
the other hand, it may have been observed, and often felt, that in pro-
portion as the understanding becomes matured and stored with solid
information, persons of considerable intelligence begin to find an
increasing hesitation in all unstudied communication on the subject
of their studies. To these rules Mr Burke was the exception; his
copiousness, founded on the overflow of his matter, was maintained by
faculties superior to the difficulties by which ordinary men are liable
to be retarded and embarrassed. Habitually conversant with the
depths and refinements of his own thoughts — rapid in his intellectual
movements — keen to see and seize upon the relations of things — his
common and familiar thoughts ranged far above and round the conver-
sation of his associates. His spirit moved at ease under the armour

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 247

•which might incumber less massive powers. Social in his temper and
affections, he was no less himself in the lighter play of human inter-
course. Ever cheerful, kindly, and full of the happiest spirits — playful
from the activity of his mind — gentle and courteous from the very ab-
sence of all sense of emulation, he accommodated himself to the un-
derstandings of his company and to the temper of the hour. His fund
of anecdote was inexhaustible; his narrative graceful, easy, and pointed;
his wit was in such keeping with the occasion, that it was rather felt
than distinctly noted; it was the brilliant and tinted ripple on the per-
petual stream. With such rare and singular attractions, his company -
was acceptable in every circle, and he rose almost at once to a dis-
tinction beyond his standing or station in society. The same qualifi-
cations of address and conversation which drew from Dr Johnson the
well-known remark, that " if Burke were to go into a stable to give
directions about his horse, the hostler would say, we have had an ex-
traordinary man here," — an observation frequently repeated under
various forms by Johnson — was often and most characteristically exem-
plified by very many incidents to be found among the biographers of
Burke.

Among the remains of his earliest literary productions, during
this interval of his life, a translation of part of the second Georgic of
Virgil, written in his sixteenth year, is very remarkable for the power,
harmony, and finish of its style, which we have no hesitation in affirm-
ing to be at least equal to Dryden's best execution in the same work.
Nor are the few specimens which we have seen of his attempts at
original composition^ inferior in their general merits ; so as indeed to
prove that he must have occupied no less a place as one of the first of
our poets, than he was destined to fill as a statesman and an orator.
He was indeed an early and devoted student of the higher class of
English poets — a study congenial to his taste and understanding, and
yielding to none as the best and purest vehicle of profound and just
thinking on man and his concerns. Young he could repeat: Milton he
studied in the spirit recommended by Horace — " Nocturna versate
manu, versate diurna" It was his custom in after life to recommend
this great poet, as displaying the loftiest range of human intellect of
any other English writer: and we cannot doubt but many must, in
the perusal of his speeches, have felt how deeply the tone and manner
of the poet had blended with, and tinged the conceptions of, the orator.
There was indeed a strong analogy of intellectual frame between them
— two master spirits, each the first in his class — the same high and
unwearying range of intelligence, the same enthusiasm, the same
powers of remote and original combination, and the same power of
giving tint and form to their thoughts. In both there was an earnest
tendency to seek the vast, the profound, the solemn, and the wonderful
— the same deep reverence for antiquity — the same firm and free sense
of the inalienable rights of humanity. If the orator was less than the
poet in the faculty of imagination, he will be allowed to have been
superior in the grasp of a most vigorous and practical reason.

Among the earliest efforts of Burke's pen, which may be regarded
as indicative of his future career, were some essays, in imitation of Dr
Lucas, then in the height of his reputation. Of this person we have

248 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

already given a sketch, in the course of this volume.* The writings
of Lucas, though patriotic ia their design, and not without much
grounded application in their general statements, were yet pernicious
in their tendency : the complaints and accusations which they breathed,
in language of the utmost violence, were traced to wrong causes, and
fallacious principles, by an intellect keen to observe, but unequal to
grapple with remote consequences, and complicated distinctions.
Burke, the main force of whose reason lay in the clear comprehension
of elementary views, and who, beyond any writer yet known to us,
seems to have possessed his knowledge in the compendious form of first
principles, — was struck by the mischief and absurdity of those mis-
statements, the effect of which upon the vulgar was then heightened
by the utter ignorance of political science which prevailed in the
country. He drew up several essays, in which he imitated the style of
the Doctor so closely, that the deception was for a time universal.
Setting out with the principles of his essays, he followed them out to
their legitimate consequences, and thus exposed the absurdity and the
danger of those democratic notions which are concealed by the partial
statements and inconsequences of their advocates.

Having completed the usual period of the under-graduate course
in the university, Burke took the degree of Bachelor, at the com-
mencements in February, 1 748 ; and, shortly after, proceeded to Lon-
don, to keep his terms at the Middle T-emple. His first impressions
of London are preserved among fragments of his correspondence,
which have been printed by Mr Prior and others. He was struck
with the eloquence of the debates, — remarks strongly on the deprava-
tion of the stage, and much impressed by Westminster Abbey, in
noticing which, he writes: — " I have not the least doubt that the finest
poem in the language — I mean Milton's II Penseroso — was composed
in the long resounding aisle of a mouldering cloister, or ruined abbey."
The thought is valuable as it presents a transient attitude and frame
of the writer's own mind: it was the breathing of solemn meditation
— the echo of the races of the past — the changes and vicissitudes
of ages — the memory of great and famous names — and all the deep
affections of our nature, which such recollections are so likely to
awaken among the habitations of the dead of history — that crowded
round the mind of Mr Burke, and struck forth tones in harmony with
the blind old bard: the tone of spirit which so often finds its place
in his writings and speeches, and to which he seems ever raised by
the expanding grasp of his thoughts, which seem to wind upward in
larger .circles, till the subject seems to embrace time and the interests
of mankind.

In London, he soon fell in with several of his fellow-students; and
many letters are said to be yet extant, in which the high estimation of
his talents, entertained by these, is strongly expressed. His health
appears to have sustained interruptions, which may in part be attri-
buted to severe study, and partly to the natural tenderness of his con-
stitution.

In 1751, he came over to Dublin, and took his degree as master of
arts.

* Page 114.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 249

He soon began to feel disinclined to legal studies. They are hardly,
if at all, to be reconciled with those strong inclinations to literature
which grew more and more upon him. His philosophic temper was not
easily satisfied with the narrow and, in some degree, factitious range
of a purely artificial science ; nearly related, it is true, to the nature
and tendencies of man, but little bringing into evidence, and little
directly regarding, those primary foundations on which all human in-
stitutions invariably, though darkly, repose. Of this Mr Burke has
left the record of his opinion, in his spirited sketch of Mr Grenville.
" He was bred to a profession. He was bred to the law, which is, in
my opinion, one of the first and noblest of human sciences — a science
which does more to quicken and invigorate the understanding than all
the other kinds of learning pat together; but it is aot apt, except in
persons very happily born, to open and to liberalize the mind exactly in
the same proportion." Deducting something from the complimentary
language, for the circumstances of a speech in the House of Commons,
the rest (the purpose of the sentence) expresses the sense of Mr Burke:
the clear and broad range of history, politics, poetry, and speculation,
could not but reluctantly be resigned for the bounded compass of the
special pleader's desk. Accordingly, it appears that Mr Burke was
at this time on tke look-out for some more appropriate direction of
his faculties. The professorship of logic in the university of Glasgow
became vacant; and, according to the best authorities, he made up his
mind to offer himself as a candidate. His chance of success may be
easily estimated as not very high, without any disparagement of his
capabilities. Glasgow has produced many able and original professors;
but we think it just to say, that original powers, of the very highest
order, cannot be of themselves the ordinary ground of election. There
is no way in which they can be fairly put into evidence in the case of a
young candidate. The known works of an advanced lecturer may be
justly appreciated; but the electors of a university matured in old
knowledge can, in few instances, be competent to judge of the preten-
sions founded on original genius. The competition must, therefore, be
ever founded upon the mere erudition, and the established reputation,
of the candidates. According to Mr Taylor, principal of the Glasgow
university, Burke stood candidate for the logical professorship in 1752,
or 1753, and failed, — the successful candidate having been a Mr James
Clow.* From this excursion, which he extended to France, he soon
returned, with fresh alacrity, to his studies in London.

For some following years, his pursuits were desultory. He occupied
himself with various and extensive reading, and in the projection of
several works. He was in the habit of frequenting the Grecian coffee-
house, where he contracted some agreeable intimacies: as his conversa-
tion seldom failed to attract the admiring attention of the persons who
resorted to the same place. He also often visited the theatre, then a
popular amusement. He had, soon after his first settling in London,
formed an acquaintance with Murphy, the actor, who introduced him
to Garrick, Macklin, and other chief performers. Macklin had set up
a debating society, at which he frequently exercised his oratorical gifts.

* Letter quoted by Mr Prior.

250 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

His acquaintance with Garrick soon ripened into an intimacy; and he
thus became gradually introduced to the extensive circle of eminent
persons whom this great actor was in the habit of entertaining-.

In the mean time, he added to his means by literary occupations.
He is mentioned by most of his biographers to have written much for
the periodicals of the day. Among the first of his essays which have
become distinctly known to the public, his vindication of natural
society, in imitation of Bolingbroke, may be selected. In this remark-
able paper, he exposes the infidel opinions of the day, by carrying them
to their extreme consequences. The happy adaptation to his purpose,
of the style and manner of that splendid charlatan; the admirable
sagacity which, in a narrow compass, selected the most effective con-
siderations, and so exhausted his subject, that the ablest writers who
afterwards took it up could do little more than repeat his arguments;
and the soundness of the views in religion and politics which he en-
forced,— have been the admiration of the best of his critics and readers.
But it has been observed, and not without reason, that he furnished
the armoury of his opponents, the infidels and democrats of the age;
and that Godwin and Paine have drawn their main arguments from his
powerful ironies. The remark is just: in some measure, it involves
these writers in the consequence of absurdity; but, from a full con-
sideration of the influence of fallacy on the crowd, and upon the
extravagant lengths to which the most ludicrous conclusions may be
received, in the fanaticism of sect and party, it must be admitted that
irony is an unsafe weapon in defence of truth and justice, as there are
few jests so absurd as not to be accepted as arguments against religion
and social order by perverted minds.

The first of his writings which attracted public notice, in any way
proportioned to its deserts, was the celebrated Essay on the Sublime
and Beautiful. Its publication was at once attended with unbounded
applause ; while it elicited the most gratifying tributes of admiration
from those who were allowed to be the most qualified to estimate its
merits. Johnson gave the warmest praise. His father testified his
approbation by a large remittance, which, with the sale of the volume,
enabled him to extricate himself from some pecuniary embarrassments.
On the merit of this essay, it cannot be necessary to enter at length :
it has long since experienced the sifting to which all such writings are
destined. His hasty theories have been rejected, while his eloquent
descriptions, and sagacious and discriminating observations, have
been retained. But little in which we can unqualifiedly concur has
yet been written on the subject; and it would be impossible to follow
his biographers in a more detailed critique, without referring to
authorities with whom we have not the good fortune to agree, or
stating opinions which would not be more fortunate with our readers.
The point of present concern is, that the publication was an event in
his life of much and decisive importance. His acquaintance was widely
sought, and he became the most distinguished figure in the brilliant
circle which Boswell has so strikingly drawn. The sagacious pene-
tration of Johnson is in nothing more displayed than in his prompt and
true estimate of Burke, and the depth of the impression is shown by
the frequent repetition of the remark of Burke's superiority to all

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUUKE. 251

others; — that he was the " first everywhere;" — that " if you were to be
driven by a shower of rain to seek shelter under the same gateway
with him, you must in a few minutes perceive his superiority over
common men." Nor was there any occasion through his life, in which
the mention of Burke did not draw some comment to the same effect
from one who recognised no other rival in colloquial ability.

Some little time previous to this advance of his reputation, Burke
had become the husband of a woman in every way suited to his taste
and disposition. Having at one time fallen into a condition of dis-
tressing debility, from the continued studies, and severe mental and
bodily exertions of literature, he applied to Dr Nugent for advice.
The doctor, equally distinguished as a physician and a fine scholar,
won by the captivating address of Burke, and having observed that his
case was such as to require, not merely rest and continued Avatchful-
ness, but also those attentions which can only be found in the bosom of
domestic life, invited him to remain under his care in his own family.
Burke assented; and thus, while the skill and care of the friendly
physician, in a short time restored him to health, he formed an
acquaintance with Miss Nugent, which soon matured into attachment,
and led to their union for life. As they were both endowed with the
warmest affections, and with tastes essential to domestic happiness,
this union turned out to be an unfailing resource to Burke through
the labours and trials of many years.

We now come to the incidents which first led to his political career.
Notwithstanding the eminent reputation which he had attained, he
was still for some anxious years left to the embarrassments attendant
upon a small allowance of £200 a-year from his father, with the pre-
carious additions wrung from literary exertion ; and, in despair of suc-
cess, had frequently turned his mind to America, from which he was
only retained by the strong opposition of his father and other friends.
He was indeed in a fair way to present one of the numerous illustra-
tions how little celebrity avails for the preferment of its possessor,
unless by the intervention of those common incidents and interests by
which ordinary men advance in the world. Burke even now occupied
a distinguished position among the most eminent persons of the day,
for wit, learning, and social taste, and was perhaps fully appreciated
by the ablest judges of intellectual worth, when the earl of Charle-
mont, who had a well-earned influence in Irish affairs, introduced him
to Mr William Gerard Hamilton, in 1 759. In consequence of this
introduction, and of the incessant and unquestionable indications of
first-rate ability, presented in his most ordinary conversation, he ob-
tained in 1761, the appointment of private secretary to Mr Hamilton,
when this gentleman was sent over to Ireland as secretary under lord
Halifax. Such an appointment to one, who, like Mr Burke, could not fail
to display powers equal to the utmost necessities of that period of con-
tinual emergency, was an essential step to further success. It cannot
now on any satisfactory grounds be distinctly ascertained what the
services were, in which he was chiefly engaged. But there is enough of
indirect circumstance to place it out of doubt, that his labours were con-
siderable and unremitting, and such as to elicit the entire approbation,
and ev,en gratitude of the higher members of the Irish administration.

252 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

He speaks himself of " a long and laborious attendance;" and Mr Prior
states that he had received intimations from persons of very high
authority, that Mr Burke was chiefly employed in the management of
the Irish house of commons, as deputy to Mr Hamilton. We cannot,
without further grounds, rely much on mere opinion ; and much incline
to doubt whether it were not more likely that Burke's known, peculiar,
and to some extent singular power of digesting documents, arranging
masses of matter, and advising wherever precise and discriminating in-
sight was to be sought for, was the main part of his service. Much of
what was called managing the Irish house, was service not very much
adapted to Mr Burke's moral or intellectual temper, and in part also
involves a degree of publicity inconsistent with any doubts being left
on the question. The main ground, we suspect, for such a conjecture is
derived from the pension of £300 a-year, bestowed upon him through
the influence of primate Stone, and Hamilton. But the term admits of
at least two constructions. There is no doubt of the fact, that he was
engaged in all the chief measures of the administration, and that he
derived both reputation and experience, such as to awaken rational
expectations of further advancement in the field of politics. But the
manly conduct which led to the termination of his service, utterly
refutes all conjectures which are in the least inconsistent with the
proud and high integrity of his reputation. We quite agree with Mi-
Prior in concluding, that no better proof could be found of the high
consideration enjoyed by its object, than the friendship and familiar
intimacy of Flood, Langrishe, Monck Mason, Lord Pery, and indeed
every individual himself deserving of respect.

Among the habits of Mr Burke at this time of his life, there is one
which, while it indicates strongly the elevated character of his intel-
lectual tastes, is otherwise interesting for the light it reflects on the
great seat of learning, from which he and so many noble spirits have
emanated. It is said to have been his general habit while in Ireland,
to pass several evenings of the week in college, among the fellows
whom he had formerly known, or with whom he became now ac-
quainted: with these often gifted, and in most instances, learned men,
he had the most grateful opportunity to indulge and improve his literary
tastes. The niceties and refinements of the chief ancient and modern
writers — the many profound and curious questions in morals and meta-
physics, which have exercised the best wits of every age; the questions
in history and antiquities to which so much interest could be given
by the entertainers and by the guest, may have afforded the main topics
of their conversation. Among the proofs of the estimation in which
his abilities as a scholar were held, it is mentioned that Dr Wilson, a
senior fellow, then highly reputed for his attainments, on some of
these occasions urged that Mr Burke should undertake a translation of
Livy. Such an effort would have offered many attractions, as a mere
literary undertaking, and it must be allowed that Burke was super-
eminently endowed for it. But his time was then engaged to the full,
and his mind had become pledged to politics.

During his continuance in Ireland he made many excursions, among
which the most memorable were those visits which he occasionally
paid to his friends in Ballitore.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 253

We have mentioned incidentally, that his services were rewarded
with a pension of £300 a-year: this pension was on the Irish esta-
blishment, and during pleasure. It was understood by Mr Burke to
be the well-earned reward of his public services; but it is evident
that Mr Hamilton saw the matter in a very different light. As this
is one of the many transactions in the history of Mr Burke, which has
been misrepresented by the malice of enmity or faction, we shall select
a few extracts from his own letter to Mr Flood, which will amount to
a full statement of the facts, so far as is essential to our purpose. Mr
Burke begins his letter with the significant sentence — " My dear
Hood, I thank you for your kind and most obliging letters; you are a
person whose good offices are not snares, and to whom one may venture
to be obliged without danger to his honour*" After a few further
words, he proceeds, " It is very true, that there is an eternal rupture
between me and Hamilton, which was on my side neither sought nor
provoked ; for though his conduct in public affairs has been for a long
time directly contrary to my opinions, very reproachful to himself,
and disgusting to me; and though in private he has not fulfilled one
of his engagements to me, yet I was so uneasy and awkward at coming
to a breach, where I had once a close and intimate friendship, that I
continued with a kind of desperate fidelity to adhere to his cause and
person." .... " The occasion of our difference was not any act
whatsoever on my part, — it was entirely on his, by a voluntary but most
insolent and intolerable demand, amounting to no less than a claim of
servitude during the whole course of my life, without leaving me at
any time a power either of getting forward with honour, or of retiring
with tranquillity. This was really and truly the substance of his
demand upon me, to which I need not tell you I refused, with some
degree of indignation, to submit. On this we ceased to see each
other, or to correspond, a good while before you left London. He
then commenced through the intervention of others, a negotiation
with me, in which he showed as much of meanness in his proposals,
as he had done of arrogance in his demands; but, as all these pro-
posals were vitiated by the taint of that servitude with which they
were all mixed, his negotiation came to nothing. He grounded these
monstrous claims (such as were never heard before in this country,)
on that pension he had procured for me through colonel Cunninghame,
the late primate, and lord Halifax; for, through all that series of

persons, this paltry business was contrived to pass, &c Yet, to

get rid of him completely, and not to carry a memorial of such a per-
son about me, I offered to transmit it to his attorney in trust for him.
This offer he thought proper to accept." The money was thus paid
elsewhere for eighteen months after Mr Burke had relinquished it. And
the fact is evidenced by a treasury memorandum, in which the grant
appears dated 19th April, 1763 ; the assignment from Mr Burke,
10th April, 1764. These facts, which so amply destroy all reports in
any way unfavourable to Mr Burke, were brought before the public
for the first time by Mr Prior; and were only ascertained from the
accident of the letter above quoted, having been found among the
papers of Flood, by his executors.

No further interview took place between Mr Burke and Hamilton.

254 POLITICAL SERIES. [1'ilTII

In returning the pension, Mr Burke sent at the same time a parting
letter for his late patron, which Mr Hamilton " many years after,"
writes Mr Prior, " had the candour to confess, was one of the finest
compositions he had ever read." A remark of the late bishop
O'Beirne's, mentioned also by Mr Prior in his notice of this incident,
ought not to be omitted here. " Believe me, if there be an obscure
point in the life or conduct of Edmund Burke, the moment the expla-
nation arrives, it will be sure to redound to his honour."

Among the numerous incidents related by Mr Burke's biographers
which took place during this interval, was his acquaintance with Barry.
Poor Barry was taken up by him, and at considerable expense and exer-
tion brought first before the public, and then enabled to study in France
and Italy. In the course of this period, as often after, he was watched
over with the tenderness of a parent ; his indiscretions checked — his
genius fostered — and his wants supplied. While the epistolary corre-
spondence, thus originated, remains among the most perfect models we
can recollect of the profoundest moral wisdom, and the most admirable
criticisms, we are content here with this very summary notice of the
incidents of a connexion so honourable to Mr Burke, because they must
hereafter be very fully detailed in Barry's memoir. We shall therefore
only pause to notice the slander which has followed this, as it has most
other of Mr Burke's good deeds, — what else indeed should slander
assail? It was invidiously observed, that Mr Burke contrived to lay
the Marquis of Rockingham under contribution for an occasion of
which he took the merit to himself. To this the answer is brief: Mr
Burke took no merit to himself; it was no part of his character to arro-
gate claims for service to his friends, nor to boast of his own goodness.
If it were, he might have truly said that it is far easier to a proud and
generous mind to give, than to solicit; and that when a favour is asked
for another by one in Mr Burke's position at that time, something for
self is resigned; an obligation is incurred, and such obligations have
their limit. But in fact Mr Burke contributed to the utmost extent
that his circumstances could admit. And in the end it must be ad-
mitted, that the assumption of munificence has no existence save in the
invention of one who assumed it, for the purpose of casting a silly
though malicious reproach.

Mr Burke's return to London was attended with more auspicious
expectations than he had previously known. His reputation for
political talent and knowledge had become general; his confidence in
his own powers, as well as his knowledge of public affairs, and expe-
rience in official transactions, had become matured. In addition to the
discipline of office, he had directed his mind with a view to the em-
ployment of his talents, and made himself master of the details of those
questions, then before, or likely to come before, the public. In his
legal studies, he had not only obtained a thorough insight into the
machinery and workings of the constitution; but by the exercise of
his unparalleled powers of generalizing, he had attained a profound
possession of those universal principles which govern the changes and
turns of human affairs, and regulate the events of human councils,
and the revolutions of empires. In attaining expertness common to
many, he had gathered that wisdom known to few, and best described

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 235

in the language of Milton : " something of prophetic strain," the
growth of " old experience" and retired study.

With a high reputation, and such gifts, Mr Burke could not have far
to seek for occasion. In 1765, Mr Fitzherbert, a member of the club,
introduced him to the marquis of Roekingham, who, on being immedi-
ately after called to the head of affairs, appointed him his private secre-
tary. This fortunate incident, the beginning of his brilliant political
career, was nearly frustrated by the suspicions of the duke of Newcastle,
who, having heard that Mr Burke was an Irishman, and also that he was
a papist, and had studied at St Omers, hurried to communicate his fears
and objections to the marquis. The marquis happily took the honourable
and open course of communicating this information to Mr Burke, who
satisfied him quickly and easily of the falsehood and absurdity of such
suspicions. The marquis was satisfied; but the proud honour of Mr
Burke was wounded by such imputations, so lightly taken up ; and he
declined any further continuance of the proposed connexion, observing
to the marquis, that the reserve which was likely to result from such
impressions, would imperceptibly cloud the confidence which ought to
exist between them, and that he could not reconcile it to his own feel-
ings to accept of a half-confidence. The marquis, won by the high
and generous frankness of Mr Burke, assured him that no such impres-
sion remained, and that he felt the highest respect and esteem for his
character and conduct, and should always treat him with the most
entire confidence. The incident is stated on the authority of lord
Charlemont, who observes, " Neither had he [the marquis] at any
time, or his friends after his death, the least reason to repent of that
confidence." The first important consequence of this compact was,
the immediate introduction of Mr Burke to the great stage of his
after life: an arrangement was made by the marquis, by which he
was elected member for Wendover.

Little can be gained by the repetition of the numerous stories which
the numerous biographers of Mr Burke have repeated, and which are
in the possession of all who read biography, unless where they cannot
be omitted, because faction has appropriated them for its purposes. It
will also be little to any purpose to which we feel pledged to attempt
the disentanglement of the petty questions of party intrigue, on which
it is difficult to arrive at, or at least communicate certainty without
far larger details than belong to this memoir. The private motives
of kings, or of their detractors, and the influences which originate
their councils, if they can be allowed to be history, are such, but in a
very subordinate sense. Of the politics of this period it is diffi-
cult to speak precisely, within those limits which we are compelled
to keep in view. A full view of the state of parties would be desir-
able as illustrative of the history of Mr Burke, and of those eminent
persons with whom he was immediately connected or opposed: such
might best be drawn from the political writings of Mr Burke him-
self, confirmed as his statements are by all that can be ascertained of
the history of his day. To these, and to other contemporary docu-
ments, with the more elaborate details of Messrs Prior, Croly, Bissett,
and other biographers, we must refer those who desire to look more
minutely upon the interior workings of parties and administrations;

250 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

we must, from a spacious and complicated scope, select the main fea-
tures ; and happily for our purpose, all that is now important to history,
or to the character of Mr Burke, is fully comprehended in a few maiii
events. That time was the commencement of a great period in the his-
tory of modern Europe — perhaps of mankind; — the great period of
transition which is the introduction to this division of our labour. And
valuable to Ireland, and even to humanity, as we must regard the life
of the illustrious subject of this memoir; yet, in our view, and accord-
ing to the estimate we have framed of our undertaking, its main im-
portance is, that it presents the occasion for the more detailed illus-
tration of the important theorem which we have endeavoured to state.
The conduct of men, or of administrations, was in one view but inci-
dental to the profound, diffusive, and irresistible, though secret work-
ing machinery, which matures and governs all the greater revolutions
of time; those changes which the historian is so often led to refer to
the folly and wisdom of men ; like those philosophers who are known
to have pored se long and closely over the processes of physical na-
ture, as to invest them with an imaginary power, and transfer to sense-
less matter the attributes of creative mind. Without that precise
apprehension of the direction of human tendency, which in his time
there was little to render distinctly apparent to human observation,
Mr Burke, raising his mind above the floating mists of circumstance
and existing expediency, reached to the more universal and standard
principles of national polity, and of the social system. To whatever ex-
tent Ms sagacity may have reached — and that of no mortal man
reached farther in the anticipation of the future — still the main views
which he enforced by eloquence and action, are in strict accordance with
the truth of things, and have their place in the science of history: they
justly represent the period to which they were applied; and, so far as
they go, rightly apply to its events. It is for this reason that, in the
life and political conduct of Mr Burke, we are presented with a more
simple and elementary aspect of the greatest events with which his
name is connected: and they appear more appropriately the introduc-
tion to the great transitionary period of which they are the commence-
ments. When, however, we undertake to vindicate the conduct of Mr
Burke, it is by no means any part of our design to assert his freedom
from error and infirmity. While his profound and masterly intellect
kept him in the line of principle, the great central path of elementary
truth; his wide and rapid imagination, governed by strong and in-
flammable enthusiasm, may often enough have precipitated his wing
too far, or given exaggerated form to his suspicions. Yet, even in
such cases, it will, we think, be always easy to show that, in these
errors, there was a clear ground of right and truth. In the outset of
his political existence he was more guided by general theorems, and
by the rules of political and moral science, than by that cautious tact
which is the fruit of experience alone.

The finances of England had been reduced by an expensive war,
and the minds of the people were universally irritated by increased
burthens. It had been up to this period the policy of the cabinet to
display little if any deference to public opinion. The violence of party
warfare, and the struggles of combining and dissolving administra-

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 257

tlons, at length became the means of awakening the attention and the
passions of the country to take part in the contention — and like the
anarch old, in Milton, "by decision more embroil the fray." The
genius of Chatham had raised the honour, and increased the dominion
and prosperity of England, but left an inheritance of difficulties to his
successors. His proud and irrespective course in which he had wielded
with almost despotic power the strength of the kingdom, had paved
the way for the depression of the aristocratic influence. A succession
of feeble ministers — the embarrassments they had to contend with—
the interference of popular opinion — and the struggles of the court
for the maintenance of its authority — seem to have completed the
change. A secret influence — a power behind the throne, greater
than the throne — was held forth to the people as the main source of
misrule, by the great statesman who could brook no authority but his
own. This phantom struck terror among all ranks. It became the
cant- word of faction ; the demagogues took it up, and it became the
favourite grievance of the day. It was assumed that the court had
conspired to govern by means of an interior and irresponsible cabinet,
to which the ostensible administration was to be but as a puppet ; at a
time when the king was driven to the utmost difficulties to find an ad-
ministration equal to the most ordinary conduct of affairs. Successive
cabinets had been formed. Lord Bute had been followed by Mr
Grenville, an able financier, but utterly devoid of statesman-like
qualities. Anxious as he was to remedy the difficulties of the
exchequer^ and, at the same time, to appease the public discontents,
it occurred to him that the object might be best attained by tax-
ing the colonies. The American States, subject to light burthens,
deriving advantages from the parent country, and yielding nothing
directly in return, seemed to present a fair and popular field for
revenue. He framed the stamp act, a measure highly popular in
England; though from the first denounced and opposed by her best
and ablest statesmen. The flame of discontent and resentment was
at once raised in America. There, while the grievance was deeply
felt, the policy seemed to strike more deeply still: their trade was
clogged with nearly insuperable impediments; but their very constitu-
tion as a people was struck at the roots by the assertion of a power
which had heretofore been unheard of, and which infringed the clear
understanding of all their previous connexion with the mother coun-
try. It was the assumption of a right not asserted when, from its weak-
ness, the colony was really dependent, and not likely to be now ad-
mitted for the first time, when a large population, considerable wealth,
and an importance universally recognised, had naturally produced a
sense of independent strength and a spirit of resistance in the descen-
dants of England. The right of taxation was denied, and strong
remonstrances from the American provinces were echoed at home by
the most prominent members of opposition. The Americans had re-
course to active measures of combination to resist and impede the
operation of the obnoxious measure. The effect was felt at home by
the mercantile interests, which were, to a large amount, involved in
the American trade ; payments were suspended abroad, and the neces-
sity of the suspension was admitted at home. On the other hand, the
VOL. v. n

258 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTil

right of taxation was fiercely asserted by popular feeling ; the king
was bent on the maintenance of an imaginary branch of prerogative;
and it seemed equally difficult for ministers to advance or recede. The
embarrassment will appeal- the more serious, from the consideration
that the actual principles of the great question which thus originated
were not understood. It was not yet fully reduced to its simple and
consistent elements, a question of right exclusively applicable to colo-
nial jurisdiction, and involving the distinction between the external
government of a colony and the internal government of a province.
But we must reserve this point for a more expanded statement far-
ther on.

The country was involved in this great, and, as it turned out, lead-
ing embarrassment, when the Grenville administration, having become
unequal to stem the popular torrent, were dismissed, and, after a vain
attempt to conciliate Mr Pitt, proposals were accepted by the Rock-
ingham party.

Such were the circumstances under which the political life of
Burke commenced. The marquis of Rockingham was, like Mr Burke,
a whig of the Revolution; if regard be had to the soundest principles
of civil liberty, and truly constitutional affections and principles, not
to be placed lower than the best and worthiest of those to whom the
helm of affairs could have been intrusted, when the great emergency
of the moment appeared to call for a due respect for rights, and a
stanch and loyal affection for the throne. But the marquis was
placed under difficulties not fully appreciated, and he is represented
very generally as subject to some unfortunate disqualifications. Proud,
retired within the cold reserve of his order, not practically conversant
with business, devoid of the tact which can rapidly seize on the true
indications of the time, his knowledge of state affairs lay more in prin-
ciple than practice. Insensible to the growing infusion of the demo-
cratic element which was beginning to impose popular conciliation as
a part of prudence: unobservant also of the inroads then recently
gained, and still gaining, on the influence of his order, he was defi-
cient in caution, and disposed to carry measures with the high hand
of power. And, in these sentiments, his secretary, far more able and
informed, but equally unpractised, agreed. They came to the ques-
tion relying on their disposition to do right. They were pressed on
one part by the Grenville party, who insisted on supporting their
own unpopular act by force ; on the other, by the remonstrances of
America, backed by the complaints of the British commercial par-
ties ; the people were for asserting the authority of England; the
king determined to defend the prerogative of the crown. Under this
combination of difficulties they took the only course that was in
reality open to them; a course which, unfortunately for England and
America, stopped half-way. They began by repealing the obnoxious
act ; but, having made this wise step towards conciliation, they bowed
to the determination alike imposed by the king and people, and passed
a law declaring the right of Great Britain to legislate for America,
and censuring the refractory conduct of the colonies. As this declara-
tion has been censured, and as it involves some difficulties, we shall
presently notice it more fully.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUIIKE. 259

Among the biographers of Mr Burke, the most friendly speak in a
slighting tone of this administration. The grounds of their contempt
do not appear very satisfactorily stated; and there are, it must be
observed, many reasons for a contrary view of its character. We
cannot pretend to settle a question so comparatively unimportant. On
consideration of the censures repeated by several historians, we can-
not resist the impression that they have, in general, too readily
adopted the party tone of the period. Historians are well warranted
in the application to past events of views derived from political
science; but there is a narrow limit, beyond which such reasonings
are inapplicable to the conduct of public men. Subsequent events
cannot be too scrupulously taken into account: the actual position of
parties cannot be too precisely estimated, and rigidly allowed for.
In the present case, the actual public results of the Rockingham
administration are too lightly passed over; the difficulties under
which they came into office have been too little dwelt on. The infir-
mities of the supposed character of the marquis, and the inexperience
of Mr Burke at the time, have been strongly stated, and their great
comparative merits suppressed. The difficulties under which they
acted were great, and may be briefly stated. They were not only
assailed by the ordinary opponents of every administration — those who
looked for their places, those who took or were pledged to opposite
views — but they were iu the hapless disfavour of the court; the
" household troops," as they were termed by Mr Burke in the defence
which he afterwards made for the repeal of the stamp act, all voted
against them on the question. " The noble lord who then conducted
affairs, and his worthy colleagues, while they trembled at the prospect
of such distresses as you have since brought upon yourselves, were
not afraid steadily to look in the face that glaring and dazzling influ-
ence, at which the eyes of eagles have blenched. He looked in the
face of one of the ablest — and, let me say, not the most scrupulous oppo-
sitions that perhaps ever was in this house — withstood it unaided
by even one of the usual supports of administration."* The charge of
timidity and of feebleness must at least be allowed to stand on bad
foundations; it is evident that, with the exception of one man, none
others could be found to trace back a step so false and pernicious as
the stamp act. " The household troops openly revolted. The allies
of ministry — those I mean who supported some of their measures, but
refused responsibility for any — endeavoured to undermine their credit,
and to take ground which would be fatal to the success of the very cause
•which they would be thought to countenance. The question of repeal
was brought on by the ministry in the committee of this house, in the
very instant when it was known that more than one court negotiation
was carrying on with the heads of the opposition. Everything on
every side was full of traps and mines. Earth below shook; heaven
above menaced ; all the elements of ministerial safety were dissolved.
It was in the midst of this chaos of plots and counterplots ; it was in
the midst of this complicated warfare against public opposition and
private treachery, that the firmness of that noble person was put to

* Mr Burkc's speech on American taxation.

2GO POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFT

the proof. He never stirred from his ground; no not an inch. He
remained firm and determined in principle, in measure, and in con-
duct. He practised no managements. He secured no retreat. He
sought no apology."*

The court disfavour was augmented by other measures of a similar
character. It was seconded by much popular clamour, but compen-
sated by the earnest approval of all the trading interests. But it
sealed the fate of the Rockingham administration. The Pitt and
Grenville parties added their clamour to the hostility of the court.
They were vilified and misrepresented by their opponents, while it
was privately determined to dismiss them at court. We are more
diffuse on this incident of Mr Burke's life than we otherwise should
wish, because we cannot avoid feeling that some wrong has been done
in not making the full allowance for the general state of facts. Too
much is referred to considerations of no real weight. Dr Bissett,
with whose general view of Mr Burke and his politics we concur, in
this instance, as in a few others, too readily seizes on unimportant
anecdotes; not, we submit, very amply authenticated, as regards
accuracy, for an event which stands on obvious and sufficient grounds.
It is not quite fair to trace a writer's motives; but, in this instance, we
cannot help feeling that this worthy biographer has been misled by his
unwillingness to admit the reality of an interior influence in the
cabinet. The charge of incapacity is not borne out by the measures ;
and, notwithstanding some allowances which we have already stated,
we doubt whether too firm an integrity, and too direct a defiance to
court authority, was not far more effective than inexperience or any
alleged incapacity. Some degree of compromise was at the moment
inevitable, and the declaratory act was the least that could be made to
the will of the king, and the prejudices of the people. They stood
alone in displaying a just sense of the commercial interests of the
country; and the resolution against a general war claims — equally
against the sense of the court — no less regard for the rights of the
subject. With respect to the result, their policy was quite success-
ful; in the colonies the discontent was abandoned; the usual taxes
paid; trade fell at once into its old routine; and civil authority was
restored. And there is no direct reason to assert that any further
consequences would have occurred, but for the subsequent measures of
the succeeding administrations. It may be said of the Rockingham
party, and of no other, that their continuance in office for some years
would, to all appreciable probability, have entirely turned away the
disasters which were so soon to be brought upon the kingdom and her
colonies. It was long after stated by Mr Penn, at the bar of the
house of lords, that the colonies would have been pacified, and no
further consequences would have occurred, if the policy of the Rock-
ingham administration had been adhered to.

On the dismissal of his party, Mr Burke, without more than two
days' delay, retired to pay a visit to his friends in Ireland. To this
he was perhaps urged by a delicate pride, which repelled the imputa-
tion of staying to be looked for. He had no bargain to make of his

* Speech on American taxation.

•

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 2G1

principles, though he could not but be fully conscious that he had be-
come an object of universal notice, and a fair mark for the usual over-
tures of party. His outset had been brilliant, and, whatever was the
unpopularity of his party, he was yet at that period of his career when
the new aspirant was considered at that time undecided as to party,
and ready to follow the road most directly leading to office. He
could not fail to be courted by the winners in the game of party, — the
high and impracticable tenacity of his temper was unknown. But Mr
Burke had selected his own path ; the favour of courts and profits of
office were to find him there, and there alone.

The difficulty of forming a ministry to succeed that of the marquis
of Rockingham was very great. His government had been less disap-
proved by the sense of the country than most which had preceded; and
this, with the number of cabinets which had been formed and broken
up within a short interval, was the main ground of the impression
which existed of a court policy to attain independence of all. It
may be an added consideration in behalf of the party going out, that
the difficulty here mentioned was mainly caused by the extreme views
of most who might be expected to replace them, and these views soon
decided the fate of the colonies.

But, before this event, Pitt again came in and formed a cabinet
famous for its composition of heterogeneous and unapt materials. We
should not need to dwell upon it here, but that it has been immor-
talized by a celebrated passage in one of Mr Burke's speeches. After
a splendid and just eulogium on lord Chatham, he proceeded, " For a
wise man, he seemed to me at that time to be governed too much by
general maxims. I speak with the freedom of history, and I hope
without offence. One or two of those maxims, flowing from an opinion
not the most indulgent to our unhappy species, and surely a little too
general, led him into measures that were greatly mischievous to
himself; and for that reason, among others, perhaps fatal to his
country; measures, the effects of which, I am afraid, are for ever
incurable. He made an administration so chequered and speckled —
he put together a piece of joinery so craftily indented and whimsically
dove-tailed — a cabinet so variously inlaid — such a piece of diversified
mosaic — such a tesselated pavement without cement — here a bit of
black stone, and there a bit of white — patriots and courtiers, king's
friends and republicans — whigs and tories — treacherous friends and
open enemies — that it was indeed a very curious show, but utterly un-
safe to touch, and unsure to stand on. The colleagues whom he had
assorted at the same boards stared at each other, and were obliged to
ask, ' Sir, your name? Sir, you have the advantage of me. Mr Such-
a-one, I beg ten thousand pardons.' I venture to say it did so hap-
pen that persons had a single office divided between them, who had
never spoken to each other in their lives, until they found themselves,
they knew not how, pigging together, heads and points, in the same
trucklebed. Sir, in consequence of this arrangement, having put so
much the larger part of his enemies and opponents into power, the
confusion was such that his own principles could not possibly have any
effect or influence in the conduct of affairs. If ever he fell into a tit
of the gout, or if any other cause withdrew him from public cares,

2()2 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII

principles directly the contrary were sure to predominate. When he
had executed his plan, he had not an inch of ground to stand upon.
When he had accomplished his scheme of administration, he was no
longer a minister. When his face was hid but for a moment, his
whole system was on a wide sea, without chart or compass. The gen-
tlemen, his particular friends, who, with the names of various depart-
ments of ministry, were admitted to serve as if they acted a part
under him, with a modesty that becomes all men, and with a confidence
in him which was justified even in its extravagance by his superior
abilities, had never in any instance presumed upon any opinion of their
own. Deprived of his guiding influence, they were whirled about, the
sport of every gust, and easily driven into any port ; and as those who
joined with them in manning the vessel were the most directly oppo-
site to him in opinions, measures, and character, and far the most art-
ful and powerful of the set, they easily prevailed so as to seize upon
the vacant, unoccupied, and derelict minds of his friends, and instantly
they turned the vessel out of the whole course of his policy. As if it
were to insult as well as to betray him, even long before the close of
the first session of his administration, when everything was publicly
transacted with great parade in his name, they made an act declaring
it to be highly just and expedient to raise a revenue in America. For
even then, Sir, even before this splendid orb was entirely set, and
while the western horizon was in a blaze with his descending glory,
on the opposite quarter of the heavens arose another luminary, and,
for his hour, became lord of the ascendant."* This passage — which,
notwithstanding its metaphorical abundance, is not less remarkable for
the figures of rhetoric, than for the condensed precision with which it
represents, sums up, and explains the history of an administration — .
may serve to convey as much of that history as our purpose demands.
The great rival luminai'y adverted to in the concluding sentence was
Mr Charles Townshend, who, as chancellor of the exchequer in the
succeeding administration, may be said to have really originated the
series of steps which led on the American war. To this point, there-
fore, we shall presently return.

The admirers of Mr Burke were now not less numerous than the
educated portion of the public; and among those in any way distin-
guishable for any intellectual gift or accomplishment, it may be
doubted if any other individual stood so high. As an orator he
was already considered the " first man in the commons " before the
dissolution of the Rockingham administration. Johnson, who always
called him the first of men, denied him wit alone; and yet, if this
denial be allowed, it will be hard to say what wit is, otherwise than
by the pedantry of a very curt definition. The fault of much of the
most striking passages of his oratory, and that which we have quoted
above, is an apposite example, the excess of wit, and this of indeed
the highest order, but it is concealed by its essential combination with
the graphic portraitures of fancy, and the profound or sagacious appli-
cations of argument and statement. The fact, the reason, and the
exposition — the substance of paragraphs of ordinary language — come

* Speech on American taxation.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 263

together in the trope or the comparison as clearly and fully as if a
page were expended upon them.

Mrs Burke, with his son and one of his brothers at this time accom-
panied him to Ireland. Among many places which they visited was
the small estate, which, but a little before, had devolved to him on the
death of his brother Garrett, who died in 1765.

He returned to London in the end of the year (1766). The mar-
quis of Rockingham, anxious for his advancement, strongly urged
his taking office under Pitt. The office of a lord of trade was offered ;
but Mr Burke, who, as the reader is aware, clearly saw the true
character of the motley administration then in the course of forma-
tion, refused and firmly resolved to adhere to his own party. He
consequently took his course in the house, and soon appeared as
the leader of the most powerful section of the opposition. For some
time there was indeed little occasion for effort, as the Chatham
administration was falling to pieces under its own ill-cemented weight.
The following notices mark the course of Mr Burke's continued ascent
to reputation: — " Our friend E. B. has acted all along with so un-
wearied a worthiness, that the world does him the justice to believe
that, in his public conduct, he has no one view but the public good."*

Lord Charlemont, in one of his visits to London, writes to Mr
Flood, 1767, " I some time ago sent to Leland an account of our
friend Burke's unparalleled success, which I suppose he communicated
to you. His character daily rises, and Barre's is totally eclipsed by
him; his praise is universal, and even the opposition, who own his
superior talents, can find nothing to say against him but that he is an
impudent fellow." Mr Prior is led into some judicious observations in
his comment on this phrase, which, though playfully used by lord
Charlemont, is yet pregnant with observation. A strong prejudice,
arising out of the constitutional idiosyncrasy of the country, then tended
to exclude from the leading rank of public men those who were not up-
held by parliamentary influence, and high or weighty connexion. Mr
Burke was — [as Mr Prior observes] — the first who, without any such
pretensions, rose by the sheer force of his qualifications. Without
the circle in which the eclat of these powers was seen and felt, the
public mind was not altogether prepared for the portent of an unknown
and unconnected borough member starting at once into the place
appropriated to the representatives of great cities and counties, or the
descendants of the highest aristocracy. We shall quote Mr Prior for
the rest. " This success, on considering his extraordinary capacity
and acquirements, was not, however, so inexplicable as it seemed.
Scarcely any one, perhaps none, who ever entered the house of com-
mons, had laboured so diligently to qualify himself for the duties of
the office he was to fulfil, or united with diligence so much genius
and power, to profit by his labours. His general knowledge was
various, and of such ready application, that, in argument or in appli-
cation, his resources appeared boundless. He had carefully studied
the ancients, and stored up what they knew; from the moderns he had
drawn improved principles of law, morals, politics, and science. To

* Letter from W. Burke.

264 POLITICAL SEHIES. [FiFTH

these he could add, when he thought proper, the logic and metaphysics
of the schools with the more popular acquirements of poetry, history,
criticism. la powers of imagination no orator of any age has ap-
proached him — in prompt command of words, and in vigour of lan-
guage, very few — in felicity, and, when he pleased, elegance of diction
when he seized the pen, no writer of modern times."

On the dissolution of parliament in 1768, he came in again for
Wendover. At this time he purchased Gregories, a small property near
Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, for £20,000, which he had in part
raised by the sale of his Irish estate, the remainder by money raised
on mortgage, but advanced by the marquis of Rockingham. A part
of the sum has been said to have been advanced by Mr William Burke ;
but Mr Prior, to whom this information was given, appears to con-
sider it doubtful. The cost of this purchase was increased by the con-
dition of being compelled by the vender to purchase also the pictures
and marbles. In one of his letters written at the time to Barry, he
mentions, " as to this house, it is hung from top to bottom with pic-
tures." He spent the recess of parliament in the repairs and arrange-
ments essential to the occupation of this house, and showed the same
skill and activity in his farming occupations as in his more studious and
important pursuits.

His means being now improved, he fulfilled l\\s pledge to Barry,
whom he had a few years before brought over from Dublin, by send-
ing him to study in Italy. In this act of generous friendship he was
aided, to some extent, by the marquis of Rockingham, as well as by his
brother. The circumstance was afterwards laid hold of for the pur-
pose of detraction, and it was suggested that there was no great gene-
rosity in being munificent at the expense of others. It would be a
waste of space to expose such frivolous malice. Mr Burke gave all he
could afford, and pretended to no praise. Few would have given as
much under his circumstances, and fewer still performed for another,
the far more difficult task of soliciting.

About this time the letters of Junius excited a great sensation in
the public mind, and still more in the political circles. They were
very generally attributed to Mr Burke, who disclaimed them, but ad-
mitted that he knew the author. We only mention this because it is
a strong test of the general opinion which then prevailed as to his
powers. The difference of style between Junius and anything we
know of Mr Burke's writings is very great, but it has justly been ob-
served, this offers no very strong objection. To us, however, there is
a difference of another kind not so easily stated, — we mean a difference
in the moral tone and spirit. This is perhaps the less easy to feel, as
there is also some similarity too. There is a strong tone of animosity,
often approaching the ebullition of vindictiveness in the later speeches
of Mr Burke; but, setting apart the difference .of period thus sug-
gested, there is as much distinction between the keen and cold gall
which distils incessantly from the pen of Junius and the towering
denunciations of Burke, as there is between the solemn and high roll
of the passing thunder-storm and the keen chill flash .of perpetual
congelation. A lofty humanity pervades and consecrates the resent-
ment of Mr Burke; and even when he declares the disruption of his

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 2G5

dearest friendships for the sake of his principles, there is the most
touching' outbreak of the kindliest feelings of his nature, so that he
seems more to wound himself than the objects of his indignation.

We should here drop the subject but that we think every reader
will be gratified by the notice on the subject of Junius, which occurs
in Mr Burke's speech on ex officio information in 1770. He replies to
the attorney-general, and his object is to throw the blame of inefficient
laws on the administration. He points severely at their impotent per-
secution of Wilkes, and asks how it is that the formidable Junius is
untouched. " Where shall we look for this relaxation of laws, and of
all government? How comes this Junius to have broke through the
cobwebs of the law, and to range uncontrolled, unpunished, through the
land? The myrmidons of the court have been long, and are still, pur-
suing him in vain. They will not spend their time on me, or you, or
you. No; they disdain such vermin when the mighty boar of the
forest that has broke through all their toils is before them. But what
will all their efforts avail? No sooner has he wounded one, than he
lays another dead at his feet. For my part, when I saw his attack on
the king, / own my blood ran cold. I thought he had ventured too far,
and that there was an end of his triumphs. Not that he had not as-
serted many truths; yes, Sir, there are in that composition many bold
truths by which a wise prince might profit. It was the rancour and
venom with which I was struck. In these respects, the North Briton*
is as much inferior to him as in strength, wit, and judgment. But
when I expected from this daring flight his final ruin and fall, behold
him rising still higher, and coming down souse upon both houses of
parliament. Yes, he did make you his quarry, and you still bleed from
the wounds of his talons ; you crouched, and still crouch beneath his
rage. Nor has he dreaded the terrors of your brow, Sir — he has
attacked even you, Sir — he has — and I believe you have no reason to
triumph in the -encounter. In short, after carrying away our royal
eagle in his pounces, and dashing him against a rock, he has laid you
prostrate. King, lords, and commons are but the sport of his fury.
Were he a member of this house, what might not be expected from his
knowledge, his firmness, and his integrity? How easily would he be
known by his contempt of danger, by his penetration, by his vigour.
Nothing could escape his vigilance and his activity. Bad ministers
could conceal nothing from his sagacity, nor could promises and
threats induce him to conceal anything from the public."f

As this memoir must be contracted within limits, far within the
scope which the real importance of Mr Burke's life may seem to demand,
we cannot afford to enter upon the detail of numerous public questions
which afforded the occasion for his exertions in parliament. Those
greater events in which his character as a statesman have been most
involved, are, fortunately, the events also of most abiding interest to
succeeding times, even to our own. With reference to these great
questions, the revolutionary changes of his age — changes still not
ended — his personal conduct has been largely the theme of praise and
censure. Their history affects our more immediate task of concluding

* Wilkes's paper. f Debates.

2G6 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

the account of Ireland and Irishmen as strongly, as it must enter as an
essential feature of English history. We have therefore entered on
this portion of our task with a view to a full commentary on Mr
Burke's conduct in these leading events, which are equally important to
his character, and the conclusion at which it is our aim to arrive.

Generally, his place for many years at this period of his life was
that of virtual leader of the opposition. His exertions were constant
and strenuous on all questions affecting the rights of the subject. In
his conduct there was a moderation which plainly proved that he was
mainly governed by a just sense of constitutional principle, and not by
the requisition of party. We hold it unnecessary to go into the mere
enumeration of public questions on which he spoke. It will be
enough to observe that, in the parliamentary debates, his speeches are
marked by special praise from the reporters.

In 1770, Mr Burke published his celebrated treatise on the causes
of the present discontents. As a literary composition, and as a dis-
play of profound and comprehensive knowledge, it has been thought
deserving to hold rank among the best productions of his pen. There
is perhaps no small deduction to be made from this estimate, by those
who regard it as a piece of dexterous advocacy, a party paper re-
markably adapted to the temper and prejudices of the day. But the
advocate is not of necessity insincere, and the consideration is so far
valuable, as it involves that of Mr Burke's adherence to principle,
and leads us to fix some points of no great difficulty in themselves,
but incidentally perplexed by the prejudices and prepossessions of his
friends and enemies. No statesman has ever been to the same extent
the object of both, or suffered more from their respective errors.
The admirers of Mr Burke have insensibly placed themselves in the
condition of having to explain away numerous inconsistencies; and
his enemies, finding it easy to reject such defences, have put false
values and fallacious constructions on such passages in his life, and
actions. Mr Burke's mastery of a more extensive range of political
knowledge, his power of deep generalizations and capacious views,
was the fruit of rare genius and uncommon applications; but the
mature wisdom which can direct the judgment is from its very nature
the result of experience. A great genius, instead of being inevitably
right in its exercise, is most likely to be urged by impulsive ten-
dencies which demand a double portion of prudence and of old experi-
ence to direct the use of his faculties. The wider scope — the more
numerous and varied ranges offer a broader and more intricate scope
for the errors of invention. Mr Hamilton observed that whatever
Mr Burke espoused, soon appeared to him invested with the charac-
ters of the greatest wisdom; and though invidiously said, the obser-
vation is in character. Mr Hamilton might with truth have added—-
that the person or the measure supported by Mr Burke, must, how-
ever qualified, have had no mean recommendations to a mind of the
noblest moral and intellectual gifts. But the proposition is illustrated
by much of the early political career of Mr Burke. His first intro-
duction to life was under a nobleman, whose temper and understand-
ing were peculiarly framed to win and fix the affections of his mind.
The impression was confirmed by his mature experience ; " and I did

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUIIKE. 2G7

see In that noble person such sound principles, such an enlargement of
mind, such clear and sagacious sense, and such unshaken fortitude, as have
bound me, as well as others much better than me, to him, from that time
forward."* We have already intimated our dissent from those who had
either treated with hasty slight, or too readily assented to unjust ani-
madversions against the brief administration of that nobleman. It is
however with a very different judgment that we look to the matter of
his tract — and the general position from which he assails the adver-
saries of his party ; yet even still it must be allowed that he presents
an admirably just view of the facts on which he draws his inferences.
The numerous sections of party, the intrigues, the petty grounds of
difference, the political or personal hostilities which actuated most of
the leading men of every side — together with the great emergency of
affairs — thre\v the court on its own resources. In a season of unusual
embarrassments accumulating at home and abroad — the successive
administrations chased each other down like the clouds of a tempestu-
ous morning; a morning loaded with the elements of fast gathering
ruin and confusion; the American war; the revolution of France; the
still wider, but less visible revolutions of opinion and of the social state,
which were to be causes and consequences of these great events. To
some extent misled by a preconceived inference, the elective affinity
of purpose — but with the wide scope of reason which characterizes
all his works — Mr Burke, in his pamphlet, traces the rise of the
aristocracy to political influence : with equal precision he sketches out
their decline, with its main causes and results. Of these many, we
would say most, aro justly assigned, but Mr Burke has, we think,
failed to make the necessary allowance for certain processes, through
which the natural laws of the social state were undergoing alteration.
In England as in America and in France, the numbers, wealth and
intelligence of the inferior and middle orders of society had prodi-
giously advanced; and new proportions had long been taking place in
the distribution of the elements of civil influence. The operation of a
new state of things was retarded by the ordinary effect of social institu-
tions; but the moving incidents alone were wanting, to give impulse
to the workings that no human hand could stay or alter, till they had
run the destined round.

The world was teeming with new emergencies, and new mind was
called forth and infused into the popular mass. It showed itself with-
out being recognised both in America and England. In the latter
country a great rush of movement tended to the head; the people be-
came more effectively influential in state concerns; and a considerable
mass of new activity and talent began to force its way to power.
With this arose the occasion, the wars and national controversies which
demanded and sanctioned the rise of new men — embarrassments on a
more spacious scale, and less to be dealt with either by mere force or
according to old methods, surcharged the torrent of intellectual ac-
tivity, and threw into comparative disuse, the authority of elder schools.
The genius of Chatham was an incident which coincided in effect
with these wider forces. His proud and solitary spirit, aiming at

* Speech on American Taxation, 1771.

2C8 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

despotic authority, completely disorganized a system already falling-
into ruin, and gave decision to the slower hand of time. The
personal character of George III. was another ; with a mind conscien-
tious, informed, and possessed of far more than the average ability of
statesmen, he saw the approaching changes and emergencies, as they
were seen by his age. He saw the prerogatives which it was his
duty to defend; the empire of Great Britain which it was his duty to
preserve; menaced and made the sport of contending factions. He
did not enter upon the field of future times now become familiar to
the vulgar, nor did he reason on general principles by which his
actions are now tried; but, feeling the emergencies in which he was
placed, and observing the reckless game of factions trifling with the
most momentous concerns and fighting their miserable fight, while
the ground was rocking under their feet, he strove to stem the tide
of troubles by his own firmness. The varied party movements, so
admirably described by Mr Burke, were the essential consequence of
such a state of things. The following description taken from Mr
Burke's tract will serve admirably for a sketch of the moment when
it appeared. "Nobody, I believe, will consider it merely as the lan-
guage of spleen or disappointment, if I say that there is something
particularly alarming in the present conjuncture. There is hardly a
man, in or out of power who holds any other language. That govern-
ment is at once dreaded and contemned; that the laws are despoiled
of all their respected and salutary terrors; that their inaction is a
subject of ridicule, and their exertion of abhorrence; that rank, office,
and title, and all the solemn plausibilities of the world have lost their
reverence and effect; that our foreign politics are as much deranged
as our domestic economy, that our dependancies are slackened in their
affection and loosed from their obedience; that we know neither how
to yield, nor how to enforce ; that hardly anything above or below,
abroad or at home, is sound and entire ; but that disconnexion and
confusion, in offices, in parties, in families, in parliament, in the na-
tion, prevail beyond the disorders of any former time; these are facts,
universally admitted and lamented." Such is, we believe, an important
page of history from the ablest observer of the time which it de-
scribes. It was the beginning of troubles which could not be fore-
seen by mortal eye. The theory which referred these evils to a court
project to secure to the court the despotic use of its own influence,
by getting rid of the subordinate authority of great natural interest
such as that of the peerage, or great acquired consideration like that
of Mr Burke, may be set down among those errors which cannot be
avoided; it was suggested by a uniform system of appearances, expli-
cable by such an assumption, and not inconsistent with the ordinary
laws and processes of society; it was an error only as regarded the
private designs of the human heart, but not as to facts and conse-
quences; an equivalent system of facts was in operation; the court
acted from the blind impulse of successive emergencies as it was as-
sumed to act by design; the consequences could not be very different.
Mr Burke's essay may with this proviso be read as formally represent-
ing the actual court measures for a time pursued ; though pursued from
necessity and not from any preconceived and refined system of policy.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 269

Such was the condition of England at the dawn of the greatest, and
perhaps the last, revolution from the disruption of the Roman empire
to the year in which we now write. It was the commencement of the
great period of transition of which we have already endeavoured to
give a summary view.* It had been long in preparation, as it was
the combined result of the progress of society. It wanted but the
impelling impulses, and they came from the administrative disorganiza-
tion and the popular disorder of England.

It now becomes essential to the main purpose of this memoir to
enter on a more connected statement of the earliest proceedings con-
nected with the American wai¥, which may be considered as the chief
material of one great period of Mr Burke's history, and as contain-
ing the proper rectification of those errors which either malicious
calumny or ignorance have propagated concerning his character.
The same details are equally required to bear out and vindicate the
views chiefly maintained in these volumes. The necessary matter
shall be reduced within the narrowest possible compass.

The American colonies had, from their earliest settlement, grown
up rapidly in population and commercial importance. They were
bound to England by commercial advantages and the sense of protec-
tion ; but had perhaps at no time thrown off the spirit of indepen-
dence which was coeval with their origin. They had been first driven
out of their native land, either by persecution, or led by a wild inde-
pendence of spirit in no small degree tinged with fanaticism. Their
growth was prosperous ; for they had carried with them the knowledge
and arts of civilization, and they were let alone by the parent country;
they were left free from exactions, because there was nothing to exact;
and the supremacy of the British crown was exercised for their ad-
vantag'e. The kings of England had hitherto seen in them a future
empire to add to the commerce and power of Britain. They contri-
buted no more than what appeared to be an adequate compensation
for the cost of the protection, and for the benefits of trade; this was
paid in the least intrusive and least derogatory form in the shape of
port duties, while their internal government and taxation were left to
themselves, and solely employed for the conduct of their internal
government. But in the mean time, the sense of independence, instead
of diminishing, was growing with their growth; and among the more
educated classes, there was a common feeling that they were at no
remote period to assume the position of a great commercial power.

Antecedent to the period in which we are now engaged, incidents
took place which must be regarded as introductory. By the treaties in
1762, between Great Britain on one part, and France and Spain on the
other, the effective strength and concert of the American states were
greatly augmented by the cession to England of the Floridas, and of vast
territories bounding on the Mississippi. Thus, besides the gain of ter-
ritory, the colonies would evidently have to deal with England alone.
With this gain of force, causes of complaint arose. In compliance
with the Spanish court, a very considerable branch of the American
trade was cut off by restrictions on the contraband trade which they car-

* Introduction to the period.

270 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU

ried on with the Spanish West Indian islands. This had long been a
subject of bitter complaint to Spain, and its prevention was now not less
so to the colonies. Their resentment was increased by the arbitrary
and unskilful method of execution : it was committed to the naval and
military authorities, who, as might be anticipated, carried matters with
a rough, high-handed, and peremptory precision ; and without any
regard to the ordinary courses and concessions of a duty which they
did not understand. It was thus a double blow to America: its trade
cut off, and its freedom roughly invaded. The North Americans at
the time, not arrived at any height of productive power, had main-
tained themselves chiefly as carriers between England and other
countries, of which the Spanish settlements, abundant in the precious
metals, supplied the principal part. Thus they obtained goods in
England, and were enabled to pay by money from the West Indies.
In 1764, the pressure of heavy financial embarrassments, and the com-
plaints of the country, led Mr George Grenville to turn his thoughts
to America as a source of revenue. He proposed resolutions imposing
duties on all foreign articles of trade imported by Americans : a bill,
carrying them into effect, was immediately brought in. The consequence
of such a measure threatened the entire destruction of the American
trade, — a hardship, because they were not allowed to obtain those
articles of trade, except from England. Another consequence was,
much internal inconvenience and distress, as the Americans were
dependent on England for several articles of home consumption,
which, with a heavy balance of trade against them, they could neither
obtain nor well afford. General irritation was the result. The sense
of separate interests was thus forcibly raised and widely diffused.

It was while affairs were in this critical position, when the cup of
grievances was surcharged, and the fatal drop was but wanting to its
overflow, that the Stamp Act was first introduced by Mr Grenville in
1764. The Americans had barely submitted to the new port duties;
they appeared but as a lawful measure carried to extreme. They were
sanctioned by usage, and might probably be mitigated, when their com-
plaints were heard. But they had been attended with one novel
feature, which had sharpened the grievance, and roused into life,
though it did not call into action, a strong temper of resistance. This
was the explicit declaration that the new port duties were for the pur-
pose of raising a revenue. It was still but a new name for an old
thing : but the stroke was followed up in the Stamp Act, which im-
posed duties on nearly every article of the internal commerce of the
colonies. Immediate resistance of the most violent kind must appear
to have followed as a matter of course. At once the trade of the pro-
vinces was arrested, and all the ordinary circulation of civil life was
congealed: The sail hung idle in the wharf — the courts of law, and
the marts of trade were deserted and desolate, and no ordinary process
of social life interrupted the fermentation of the popular mind. In
the mean time the effects were felt with equal severity by the English
mercantile interests. The principal part of their trade was then with
America, and this was at an end. In America an agreement was set-
tled against all further imports from England. In England also, the
stock lay idle in the stores, and the workmen were turned out of employ-

JERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 271

ment. Petitions to parliament from all the chief trading towns, Lon-
don, Liverpool, Bristol, &c., attested strongly the mischief. The sum
of these unfortunate circumstances could not fail to receive immediate
attention. At this time, the marquis of Rockingham came into power.
An inquiry was immediately set on foot, and the obnoxious act re-
pealed. The fact we have already stated — we have now to make a
few remarks on the manner, -which we postponed, to avoid the inter-
ruption of our personal narrative.

Many of Mr Burke's biographers appear to have gone too far in
asserting or admitting the impolicy of the declaratory act. The step
has been judged of with reference to after events, not in any way con-
nected with it. The repeated discussion of the same grievance caused
a considerable extension of the complaints of America: abstract ques-
tions seldom affect the public mind till they are in some way invested
with practical application ; they are then mostly dangerous, because they
are not understood, and liable to be carried beyond their due limits. To
admit that a right, supposed to be involved in sovereignty, should be
set aside by a very simple implication, would seem to lead to far more
dangerous questions. The assertion of it was a barrier to authority : the
policy of Mr Burke's advice consisted in this, that it went to the precise
length of the evil, and conceded no further than was required. The
remaining question of right, however it might be decided, was one
not to be rashly settled. It is unwise in such contentions, to attempt
defining too precisely the line of rights : it is enough to avoid injus-
tice, and leave the question till it practically arises. The simple
repeal of the obnoxious measure was amply sufficient for the occasion:
America was more than content ; we extract the following sentences
from the chronicle of the year : — " The rejoicings all over North Amer-
ica for the repeal of the stamp act, have been excessive, and several of
the colonies have begun to raise subscriptions for statues to Mr Pitt.
At Philadelphia, they came to the following healing resolution, viz,
that, to demonstrate our zeal to Great Britain, and our gratitude for
the repeal of the stamp act, each of us will, on the 4th of June next,
being the birth-day of our most gracious sovereign, George III., dress
ourselves in a new suit of the manufactures of England, and give what
home-spun we have to the poor." Rejoicings were general through
the provinces ; and it is incidentally stated in one of the chronicles for
the same year, that a melancholy accident occurred at Hartford, in
Connecticut, from the explosion of three barrels of gunpowder, which
had been provided for fireworks for the occasion. But when once a
contest happens between the people and their sovereign, there is in
point of fact, no limit to questions of right, till force has decided what
reason is impotent to determine. There is far too much to be said on
every side, for self-interest to want a specious plea: nor were the
Americans more earnest in the complaints which were redressed, than
the people of England in resetting that redress. In the commence-
ment of 1767, a general sense seemed to combine all parties in a dis-
position adverse to the Americans. Mr Grenville proposed to raise a
revenue upon them to the amount of £400,000 ; and Mr Townsend,
who was chancellor of the exchequer, agreed in the principle, but
hesitated as to the time. The Americans were already aware of the

272 POLITICAL SERIES. [Fll'TU

general feeling in England, and of the design of the principal memhers
of the administration, and did not fail to display, on their part, a
strong determination to resist. It was generally known that resistance
was in preparation : a few voices were raised to forewarn, but they
made no impression; and, in the course of the session, a bill was pass-
ed, imposing duties upon a variety of important articles on their im-
portation into America. Another bill was passed, placing all imposts
and duties in the colonies under the control of his majesty's commis-
sioners. To this was added a bill, prohibiting the governor, council,
and assembly of New York from any act of legislation^ until certain
securities were given, and certain acts of submission performed.

All this time, lord Chatham, who was ostensibly at the head of the
government, continued in his mysterious retirement, and took no actual
part in public affairs. The cabinet became embarrassed, and at last
the king was driven to an effort to organize an efficient ministry.
Proposals were made to the marquis of Rockingham : after some nego-
tiation- he declared off on the question of America, and the rejection
of gen«ral Conway, who, with him, entertained a pacific policy.
Townsend died suddenly, and in the perplexity of the moment, Chat-
ham was applied to once more, but he would listen to no terms. At
last, after much complicated negotiation, the ministry was pieced to-
gether again, lord North was persuaded to take office as chancellor
of the exchequer, and other changes of no importance to our narrative
followed.

Meanwhile, the effect of the recent enactments was not slow to
show itself in America. In January, 1769> a spirited discussion took
place on the subject: it was followed by several others, in which the
question seems to have been argued strongly by several members of
the opposition. A petition from New York denied the power of par-
liament to tax America: a resolution was carried against receiving it.
A motion was made by governor Pownal, for the repeal of the obnoxious
acts, but ministers coatinued to stave it off. The oppressive opera-
tion of the mutiny act — the arrival of the board of commissioners in
Boston — the wording of Townsend's act, containing provision for fur-
ther aggression — all called forth a prompt and unanimous declaration
from the colonists. A party of leading citizens met to concert the
most expedient means of giving effect to the agreement against the
importation of English commodities. An active and exceedingly ef-
fective war of tracts and pamphlets commenced. On the 15th Febru-
ary, 1768, the assembly of Massachusetts sent out a circular to the
colonies, inviting a combined resistance — other assemblies pursued the
same course. The British government demanded the retractation of
these resolutions from the assembly of Massachusetts — they returned a
pointed refusal, and were dissolved by governor Bernard.

A cargo of madeira was, we believe, the first occasion of a recourse
to physical resistance: the vessel was attacked by the rabble, and
after a serious scuffle between them and the revenue officers, the latter,
together with the sloop, were barely saved by the crew of a British
frigate which lay in the harbour. The people of the town proceeded
with singular dexterity, and a show of justice was kept up by the most
adroit collusions.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 273

At home, the government had come to the determination to resort
to force. In consequence, accounts were soon received in Boston that
a regiment, a frigate, with other armed vessels, were on their approach
to support the government. The only effect was a determination, fol-
lowed by immediate preparations, to resist force by force. A strong
force, both naval and military, soon crowded round them, and a sullen
silence was imposed for a time. But nothing was thus gained; all
the colonies took fire, and adopted a haughtier tone, and more decided
measures.

The ministry began to feel that something must be retracted; and
a circular was transmitted, offering to take off the obnoxious duties.
But the storm was now too high for compromise; the pretence of
right was not disclaimed; the true intent and reserved purpose of its
being maintained was either fully known, or strongly suspected, and
the duty on tea, insignificant in itself, remained as the tangible
ground for resistance. We are thus brought up to 1770, when it
may be considered that all parties to this great question had defini-
tively taken their ground in the contest. Before we proceed further,
therefore, with Mr Burke's history, we shall offer a few remarks to
fix the character of the principles on which his conduct ought to be
fairly judged. He has been accused of inconsistency for espousing
the quarrel of America, and taking part against the French Revolu-
tion. It is one of the main objects of this memoir to discuss such
charges. With this object in view, we shall here state the elemen-
tary grounds on which the conduct of Mr Burke is to be justified in
either case as they shall occur; and, first, as relates to America.

The distinction between the two cases will, indeed, need no refine-
ment. America resisted an external government imposing a new
constitution. In France an insurrection of certain classes levied war
against the kingdom. We shall have a further opportunity for pur-
suing this comparison at large, and shall here only delay to point out
some prominent peculiarities of the question, with respect to the colo-
nist, with a view to show that it does not involve the principles of that
allegiance which every one must be considered to owe to the govern-
ment of his country; neither involving the self-preserving expediency
of the social state, which makes the maintenance of subordination
essential to the existence of social order in a country, nor the external
necessities of circumstance by which one country may be in a manner
vitally connected with another; nor, finally, the strong, though not
so essential or elementary principle, of prescriptive authority. Of
these first principles of civil allegiance, not one will be found to have
applied to America. The power exercised by Great Britain was
originated during the weakness of the colonies, — had for its professed
object their protection, and was maintained by prescription; but the
understanding on all sides was governed by these same considerations,
and there was an established method and rule in the exercise of those
powers. The powers now claimed were wholly different in princi-
ple: they were despotic, and violated the very foundation of civil
allegiance. The first principle of lawful obedience is this, — that all
lawful government is exclusively for the good of the people governed :
opposed to this is the subjection of weakness to force. In the first
VOL. v. s

274 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ease, the duties of king and people are, so far as they are clearly
ascertained, reciprocal ; in the second, they are not binding further
than the disparity of force imposes. There is no law for slavery hut
the old adage, " might makes right." So far as authority can be con-
sidered of any value on suc-h purely elementary questions, we may
briefly state that the best historians and jurists of ancient and modern
times agree in the opinion, that the colonist, if governed by the
parent country, has a strict parity of right ; he is to be governed
pari jure, and entitled in common interest to a community of privilege.
Si quid autem commune fuerit, id out communiter administrandum,
aut pro ratis portionibus dividendum*

A few facts and circumstances will show the application of these
statements to America. The colonists, from the beginning, had been
allowed ta exercise a full discretion in the management of their own
internal affairs ; the government of England had been simply paternal ;
and, by universal understanding, for the advantage of the colonies.
The advantages were understood to be reciprocal — the legitimate
principle of all colonial empire. The Americans were protected by
the naval power of England, and enriched by being the principal car-
riers in her trade; England, on her part, enjoyed a vast monopoly of
the colonial markets. Here was the whole relation in all its bearings.
There existed no right to extend it; the colonies were not in any way
a member or members of the British nation ; they were not repre-
sented in England. As colonies deriving protection from the naval
power, and capital from the commercial wealth of England, a certain
subjection based on these grounds, and a revenue arising from the
very nature of the connexion, was the equitable return. These impo-
sitions were early established, and might be claimed from prescription,
while the same prescription confirmed the immunity of the colonies
from the interposition of new and inconsistent exactions. The navi-
gation act had the authority of time. The new imposts were arbitrary,
and amounted to the assertion of despotic power.

But it is surprising to witness the fast hold of old national preju-
dices. The question as to the precise right by which the jurisdiction
of a country over her colonies can be maintained, after it has ceased
to be beneficial to the latter, and can be thrown off, does not appear
to have been discussed. The maxim that might makes right, has, we
must admit, a formidable place in the equity of international law; but,
still, this equity is in itself clear enough; a subjection imposed by
force alone, is only such till it can be thrown off. In the internal
government of nations, the will of the nation is involved — the power
of the ruler is neither more nor less than the power of the nation
itself — and this is the fundamental principle of government. The idea
of parentage was impressed on the English mind: it was strengthened
by the indefinite notion of subjection. Of the first, which, at the time,
afforded strong rhetorical appeals, we need dwell no longer than to
mention Mr Burke's retort to lord Carmarthen, who said in his speech,
" The Americans are our children, and how can they revolt against
their parent?" Mr Burke, in reply, said, " They are our children,

* Grotius dc Jure, lib. 2, cli. 9, § 10.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUUKE. 275

but when children ask for bread, we are not to give a stone." To say
that the Americans were subjects of the crown was true in one sense,
and understood in another; there was a lurking sophism in the public
understanding. Their remote ancestors had been subjects in the
strongest sense, as natives of Great Britain ; but to such a subjection
there is the same natural law of limitation which divides all the races
of the human family. In this sense the assumption is absurd, and this
was the popular sense. The Americans were actually bound by a
conventional subjection to a certain settled form of government, and
the question must be what this was, and what it implied. The ques-
tion is of some importance in the life of Mr Burke; and it is therefore
we call the attention of our readers to its brief consideration. The
government of a kingdom is universally understood to be either for
the benefit of the people, or a state of slavery for the benefit of a mas-
ter or dominant nation. The latter case may be dismissed with the
remark, that, not being voluntary, it essentially involves the right of
resistance. The first, which applies to America, is easily reduced to its
principle; the right of resistance must commence at farthest when the
interests of the people are avowedly disregarded by their government.
In numerous cases the fact may be difficult to ascertain; but in the
case of America, there was no such difficulty : the wrong was ostensible j
it was distinctly avowed ; there was no latent evasion. It was pro-
posed to raise an American revenue, not for the benefit of America,
but for England. America was to be governed for England: this
was the principle broadly put forth, and was the real ground of national
complaint. Now, our main object in these remarks is to call the
reader of this memoir to observe, that this can be compared with no
ordinary case of the rebellion of a country against its own constituted
authorities. It was the legitimate reclamation of its external govern-
ment to the proper duty of every government ; it was not the common
case of a populace pretending to control the authority of the laws
and constitutions of the land, but the case of a people who insisted
on the common and indefeasible duty of their government. But to
constitute the case of the French revolution there must be a simple
question between the people and their government : for this there
should have been a community of rights, privileges, laws, administra-
tion and interests, between England and America: they should have
been members of the same empire, and alike represented in the British
parliament; and this, after all, would be only a rude approximation
to the common analogy of the question between a nation and its go-
vernment. But the cases may be thus definitely put — France revolted
against her own constitution; America against external usurpation. A
question, however, of a different kind was actually to be settled ; not as
in the days of James II., at what point the dereliction of the duties of a
sovereign might determine the allegiance of the subject; but at what
point of its progress a great country might claim a government for
itself. That some such point exists, must at once be conceded; as the
progress may approach and arrive at equality, or the dependent state
may become superior without any supposed opposition of interests.
This precise period in the scale of progress must be decided, like all
human changes, by events; and the event of competent power is

276 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

enough in the universal understanding of nations. A clear infringe-
ment of the fundamental principle of government is more than our
case requires: the government of England in America had been set-
tled, like all just government, by usage — in departing from this, the
question arose as to the authority. A new right was claimed ; and it
was of the nature of despotism, arbitrary and unlimited. We do not
enter — for it is unnecessary — into the special injustice proposed: it
is easy to see the growing consequences of such a precedent as was
thus introduced. He must have been a dull American whose fears
took no alarm at finding the hand of England at his purse strings.
It was plain that the moment had arrived, when one government was
inadequate to two nations with opposing interests and demands; with
the broad Atlantic rolling between them, and each fully requiring all
the authority and deliberative weight of an entire administration.

We trust that we have said enough to convey a clear sense of the
grounds of Mr Burke's conduct — what he did, and where he stopped.
The habit of looking to party principles has led his opponents into
error. Allowing for the actual changes of the controversy in which
the colonies and the parent country were then committed, he will be
seen to have kept steadily adherent to the principles of justice and
sound policy; and, if his conduct appeared inconsistent, it was because
his revilers and calumniators confounded the simplest distinctions.

The next year renewed a contest, which the good sense and firmness
of Mr Burke's party had set at rest. The declaratory act simply ar-
rested a dangerous question: the conduct of succeeding administrations,
adopting explicitly a principle which it was the policy of the Rock-
ingham party to suppress, and absurdly acting for no other immediate
end than the establishment of a right which could not be admitted,
adopted the absurd project of a taxation not more than merely nomi-
nal— a challenge to try a power. This policy implied so much that
was dangerous in design, and so fully suggested all the most objec-
tionable consequences, that it could not fail to elicit resistance.
Against this Mr Burke took his determined stand. As the strife pro-
ceeded, his own judgment was also maturing by experience : it was
not consistent with his principles, or with sound discretion, to anticipate
the final event of the struggle; but at every step he adhered to justice.

The contest with the colonies proceeded for many years, during
•which Mr Burke took a conspicuous and leading part in behalf of the
Americans. In 1771, his efforts, and the high character he had
acquired for knowledge of American affairs, obtained for him the
appointment of agent for New York. This appointment was worth
£700 a-year.

Meanwhile, his activity in the house, as leader of the opposition, was
maintained by frequent exertions of eloquence on a variety of questions
of home politics: on these the briefest enunciations will, for the most
part, be enough.

The reports of his speeches during this session are too slight and in-
sufficient to give more than some imperfect view of the general line of
argument. We have already had incidental occasion to quote him on
the discussion of the power of filing ex officio informations by the
attorney-general. He exerted himself with great vigour in behalf of

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUKKE. 277

two bills for ascertaining the rights of electors, in February, 177 1.
In March, a bill framed by himself, on the powers of juries in libel
prosecutions, was brought forward by Mr Dowdeswell : it is remarkable
as an anticipation of the doctrine afterwards decidedly laid down,
settling that the jury are judges of the law as well as of the fact.
His speech, on this occasion, may be found both in the parliamentary
history of England, and in his works, from which it has been copied by
the compiler of the former. Mr Dowdeswell's motion was rejected
by a large majority, on the grounds that the declaration it proposed
was actually the law, and that it might only have the effect of unset-
tling the authority on which it thus stood. A few days after there was
a report in the Public Advertiser of Mr Burke's speech: the reporter
had in effect fallen into the very error of misunderstanding the argu-
ment so far, as to put into Mr Burke's mouth the fallacy anticipated
by the opponents of the motion. This drew a long letter from him,
distinctly stating his view, and explicitly declaring that " Mr Dowd-
eswell did not bring in an enacting bill to give to juries, as the account
expresses it, a power to try law and fact in matters of libel ;" but " that
they shall be held competent in right and law to try the whole matter
laid in the information. The bill is directing to the judges concern-
ing the opinion in law which they are known to hold on the subject."
The fact was, that there was an uncertainty created by the effort of
the judges to restrain the power of juries, and extend that of the
bench. There was a difference of opinion, and in consequence much
doubt. Such a consequence appears to be the proper object of a de-
claratory enactment. A bill to the same effect, and copied from Mr
Burke, was brought in by Mr Fox at a subsequent period.

Among other discussions at this period, there appears to have been
much irritation on the score of its privileges this year manifested by
the house. The debates of 1771 are filled with angry debates on
matters now of slight interest. One of these, nevertheless, had an im-
portant and permanent result — the liberty of publishing the debates.

Many members having from time to time complained of unfair re-
ports of their speeches in the public journals of the day, at last, in
February, 1771, colonel Onslow made a complaint of several journals,
and moved that the printers should be brought to justice for infring-
ing a standing order of the house, against printing, in newspapers, the
transactions of the house of commons. The affirmative was carried —
the printers were ordered to appear. Some complied ; others refused.
The sergeant-at-arms was ordered to arrest the refractory printers.
This failed; and, in the mean time, several more delinquencies of the
same nature were similarly brought forward by Mr Onslow. A long
series of motions, through the month of March, to the same purport,
•with various results, continued to excite the house, and irritate the
public mind; until some of the persons arrested, acting, doubtless, on
advice, adopted a course of defence. When taken into custody by the
messenger of the house, the person so arrested instantly sent for a city
constable, to whom he gave the messenger in charge. To detain his
prisoner, the messenger adopted the same expedient. Both were brought
before the sitting magistrate, who immediately dismissed the printer,
as not being in the custody of a legal officer. The consequence was

273 POLITICAL, SERirs. [FIFTH

serious, as might be anticipated; for the contest was thus transferred
from the printers to the city of London. The passions of the people
were roused into a fearful agitation. The question, from a trifle, be-
came one of the deepest moment: it was, whether the liberty of the
subject, or the constitution of parliament, was to be subverted. The
lord-mayor was ordered to attend. He came, escorted by a furious
mob ; and returned, drawn by their hands. The proceedings went on
for several days, and terminated in sending alderman Oliver and the
lord-mayor to the Tower. Mr Burke's speech was ill heard, and not
reported; but the debates, from which we have collected these par-
ticulars, mention that he lamented the miserable conduct of the house,
in which hardly any prudent course had been left them, but that they
had chosen the most imprudent in their power. Having thus spoken,
he withdrew, with many of his friends. He soon after, in company
with the marquis of Rockingham, and the dukes of Portland and Man-
chester, went to visit alderman Oliver in the Tower.

In our own time, when great movements of a revolutionary charac-
ter have precipitated the feelings of parties towards each extreme, there
is some difficulty in justly appreciating the wisdom of moderation. They
whose views of that reform — which must be ever required by the pro-
gress of mankind, and by the imperfection of all human things — are
derived from just views of political theory, must act and think on a
system, at the same time conservative, and tending to reform: far be-
tween the bigotry of prejudice which clings to mere antiquity, and the
headlong thirst for mere change. Such is the proper station which
is to be assigned to Mr Burke ; and he is only to be truly estimated
by fully keeping it in view. He was perhaps, even at this still early
period of his career, slowly beginning to apprehend that he was stand-
ing in the dawn of a revolution ; he certainly was impressed with the
danger of many of those workings, both abroad and at home, and of
those imperfections in the government of the country which were its
primary causes. Without fully measuring the remoter effects, he
clearly saw the evil tendencies. Hence it was that he has been found
at different times so earnestly striving against corruption and mal-
administration; and not less against ill-judged popular measures, of
which the tendency would have been to alter the due balance between
government and the people. It was as much a part of his policy to
repress the undue encroachments of one, as the brute and inconsider-
ate interferences of the other: he was on the one hand as little to be
confused with the demagogue, as on the other with the partisan of
courts.

In the year 177 1» alderman Sawbridge introduced a motion for
triennial parliaments. Mr Burke and his party opposed it effectively.
An outline of Mr Burke's speech on the occasion will be found in his
works. The topics are obvious; for the subject has since grown trite.
We only feel here called on to observe, in reference to the time, that
it was one of the many strong indications of the temper which was
setting in. The complaints against power; the endeavour to shake off
burthens and arbitrary restraints and impositions, would naturally
enough be the commencement of the rise and flow of democracy. The
proposed measure would, at best, have been a hundred years in advance;

PEKIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 279

and, looking at it in connexion with the history of the following
twenty years, it could scarcely have been less than the overthrow of
the British constitution, as it would have altogether shattered into
ruin the central adjusting and controlling weight of parliament, and
reduced the house of commons into a mere arena for a fatal struggle
between the rabble and the peerage or court. To exalt the power of
parliament; to depress the influence of the court; to restrain the power,
and extend and guard the rights and constitutional liberties of the peo-
ple ; — these were the immediate objects kept in view by Mr Burke and
the Rockingham section of opposition. It was their honourable distinc-
tion to have no personal object: they were separated from other whigs
by a conduct purely irrespective of the small selfish motives by which
party men are so often misled. The depravity of party conduct is mostly
well concealed by the facility which most men find in reconciling their
private interests with public principles : a task rendered the easier by
confused views ; while the most opposite conduct can be justified on most
public questions, it must be hard for men of moderate intellect to want
reasons for any course of party. It is the peculiar praise of Mr Burke,
that he stood apart, through his entire course, from all questionable
grounds. That in his system of political opinions there were, at this
period, many errors, we have no wish to deny; that there were some,
we are sure. Though a man of the most active observation, and of
the most profound sagacity, Mr Burke was full of the constructive
powers and dispositions of a free and soaring imagination — a quality
which, while it widely extends the scope, and effectively aids the facul-
ties of reason, is apt, in the outset of life, to hurry the mind into
theoretic views and premature generalizations.

In the intervals of parliamentary attendance, Mr Burke pursued his
farming occupations at Beaconsfield, with an assiduity, interest, and
even skill, as great as if the breeding of fat porkers, and the sowing
of his wheat, were his only end in life. Some of his letters quoted by
Mr Prior are remarkable for the proof they contain of this, and
verify the remark so often and so variously made of the great extent
and minuteness of his acquirements. Every subject on which his
attention was turned seems to have been followed out into its least
details.

Another incident, illustrative of the perfect freedom of Mr Burke's
intellect from false liberality, occurs in the debates of 1 772. In Feb-
ruary, Sir W. Meredith presented a petition from numerous clergy
and laymen, for relief from the necessity of signing the thirty-nine
articles. The petition was such as might be expected from a body of
grave and pious men who had fallen into some very remarkable errors.
Of the debate which followed we cannot speak in terms of equal re-
spect; it was characterized by a degree of ignorance and flippancy diffi-
cult to be conceived. The articles were assailed without the slightest
appearance of the speakers having even cursorily looked into them.
But what was indeed worse, many of the speakers attacked the doc-
trines of Christianity, and levelled arguments against the articles of
the church, which, if they had any weight, were as directly subversive
of the plainest assertions of divine revelation in the holy Scriptures.
The debate was indeed a curious illustration of the temper of the

280 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

times, and of a state of opinion which was at the root of events then
preparing to follow. A rationalizing system of mere social morality
pervaded the pulpit, and there was no vital religion in the public mind.
The New Testament was so little known to the educated laity, that any
doctrine above the utilitarian and expedient ethics of the world was
quite forgotten, and it was regarded as absurd that religion should have
any mystery, because both its end, authority, and entire character were
unknown. This error pervades the debate; we shall not particularize
the speakers. Mr Burke was among those who resisted the petition
on those just grounds of truth and moderation which are the result of a
reference to the principles actually involved in the question. He was by
nature and habit the uniform advocate of liberty of opinion and of tolera-
tion ; but this did not prevent him from recognising the absurdity of per-
sons voluntarily adopting the official adherence to a church, and then
petitioning to be allowed to hold its offices of trust, and released from
its obligations. Mr Burke at once saw that the question was not as
to liberty of conscience, but as to the existence of the church. He truly
said that there existed no constraint — no one was compelled to adopt
or adhere to the church, which is no less than an institution for the
maintenance of the doctrines agreed upon by those who belong to it;
and to say that the church so constituted was to be administered by
those rejecting those very doctrines, involved a direct contradiction.

Mr Burke was among the few who in that day of laxity retained
some just sense of the Christian religion, as a revealed religion, and
as involving interests and duties beyond the common moralities of
social life. The general depravation of religion here referred to was
among the very chief of those indications which we can now, looking
back along the chain of events, see thickening over that generation as
the thunder-cloud of revolution.

It was about this time that Barry the painter, having come home
from Italy, was found by Mr Burke to have received the foul taint of
infidelity. He entered with zeal, and it is supposed with success, on
the task of reclaiming his friend. There is no remaining trace of
their conversation on this topic, which Mr Burke, of all men, was likely
to have treated in the most masterly style ; but it is known that he
recommended Bishop Butler's Analogy, which is assuredly the ablest
philosophical essay that ever has been written, and worthy of the most
important subject. The fact is mentioned, however, as serving to
show the just views which Mr Burke must have had on the evidence
of divine truth.

In the mean time, American affairs were slowly but decidedly
verging to the crisis of actual insurrection. In 1774, many were
beginning to have more distinct views of the real tendency of events ;
though even at this time, there was no anticipation of the eventual
result. To this indeed, the utmost reach of liberality had not arrived
— it was anew question, on principles not yet contemplated, and having
even no explicit connexion with the event. The furthest advances of
political speculation on the subject of the colonies are probably to be
found in Mr Burke's celebrated speech on " American Taxation," a
speech which obtained the applause of all parties. It is the same from
which we have already made many extracts in this memoir. We have

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 281

noiv only to mention some of the circumstances. The tea duty had
now for a long1 time been the point on which the dispute appeared to
rest, when on the 19th of April, a motion was made for its repeal.
Several members had spoken, when Mr Burke rose, in reply to one of
the lords of the treasury. The previous discussion had fatigued the
house, and numerous persons had retired to the coffee-room, when
the report that Mr Burke had begun to speak brought many back;
the sensation was rapidly diffused, and the house became crowded.
The whole assembly was from the beginning fixed in breathless atten-
tion, and the spectators in the gallery were with difficulty restrained
from applause. Arguments, illustrations, pathetic appeals, and pointed
retorts, succeeded each other with a closeness which allowed no in-
terruption to the intense interest which was excited. The speakers
who had preceded were so directly and so pointedly replied to, that
there could be no doubt that this surpassing effort was in form and
language extemporaneous. Notes were fortunately taken by several
persons present; and to this the world is indebted for the preserva-
tion of one of the most perfect specimens extant, of the power,
compass, and resources of genuine eloquence. At the termination of
one of those splendid bursts which followed in rapid succession,
" lord John Townsend, who had been familiar with all the former
leaders of debate, exclaimed, 'Good heavens! what a man is this!
where could he have found such transcendent powers !' " It has
of late been usual to depreciate Mr Burke as an orator: this is
partly the effect of the strong disposition to lower his reputation,
and partly the effect of some malicious and false memoirs, which
were written with the same design, and unhappily pre-occupied
the ground. The latter biographers, Mr Prior and Mr Croly, and
others who have with meritorious industry and research restored his
genuine fame and character to light, have not yet had the fortune to
dissipate absurd prejudices which party politics have aided to keep
alive. Mr Burke is still spoken of with bitterness by a class whose
own views in some measure expose the source of such long surviving
dislike. When he is mentioned as an orator, it is still not unusual to
hear some invidious qualification, such as — that his speeches were pam-
phlets, or that it is well remembered that he was the " dinner-bell of the
house," or some other sneering recollection. But we mention this in
order to remark, that this, like most undeserved attacks on public men,
has its origin in the misrepresentation or perversion of circumstances.
These early splendours of Mr Burke's life were forgotten in the unpopu-
larity of years long after. This with its occasions and consequences we
shall soon arrive at ; but we would emphatically call the attention of our
readers to the statements here offered on the most unquestionable
authority, from which indeed it is evident that, during this period of his
public life, Mr Burke held an unusual power of commanding the attention
and applause of the house. Had the debates been at that time re-
gularly reported as at present, there could be no room for any question
on the subject; but the reader maybe referred to the brief remains of
those discussions in the parliamentary debates, for authority which is
at least as good as the posthumous slander of Mr Burke's detractors.
In the reports his name seldom occurs without some comment, expressive

282 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlfTH

of admiration, or stating the effect with which he replied. It was mostly
in reply that he rose at a late hour when the attention of the house
was nearly worn out; the habit told against him at a later period of his
life; but at this time it only served to show the mastery of those un-
rivalled powers which could break the spell of weariness, and charm
his opponents into enthusiastic attention. It has been observed that Mr
Burke's official engagement to America as agent for New York, may
have stimulated his extraordinary efforts in the cause ; we see no
objection to the supposition; this engagement undoubtedly had the effect
of making such conduct his duty in a more particular sense ; it would be
a grievous imputation could the opposite reproach have been made:
but the after events of Mr Burke's life tend uniformly to prove that
he required no stimulus from interest to rouse all the energy of his mind ;
it was enough if the conflict was for the cause of great principles, and for
the welfare of nations. Mr Burke, as can be ascertained from his letters
and the recollection of his private conversation, considered the Boston
Port bill, as the turning point of events. The publication of his speech,
from the notes of many of his friends, produced as strong an effect on
the public as its delivery on the house; and it is known that lord
North was so impressed by his reasoning as to feel for a time disposed
to retrace his steps; and he actually offered in the following session to
repeal the tea duty if this would satisfy the colonies.

The death of Goldsmith happened atthis time, and Mr Burke with Dr
Johnson were the directors of his funeral. On the dissolution of parlia-
ment, Mr Burke went to standhiselectionatthe borough of Malton, where,
by the interest of his friend the marquis of Rockingham, he was elected.
The election was over, and he was sitting down to dinner when a de-
putation arrived from the city of Bristol, to make offer from the prin-
cipal persons there, to bring him in free of expense as member for
that city. Such a tribute to public character, from one of the largest
commercial cities in England, fixes honourably the high reputation
to which he had attained. For the same reason, it was at the time of
still more importance. He obtained the consent of his constituents at
Malton, and set off to Bristol, and after a rapid journey of thirty- eight
hours, over 350 miles, he arrived at Bristol on the 13th of October, the
sixth day of the poll. Without delay he proceeded to the hustings —
and after a few minutes' rest he addressed the electors in a speech
which gave general satisfaction.

The contest lasted till the 3d of November, when he was declared
elected. On this occasion Mr Burke again addressed his electors. A
demand for political pledges, such as is now familiar to the public, was
assented to in a declaration from one of the candidates, which made Mr
Burke consider it imperative to be explicit on the extent of the duty
of a representative to his constituents. Mr Cruger admitted that he
considered himself pledged to their will : Mr Burke on this point
said "I wish that topic had been passed by, at a time when I have so little
leisure to discuss it." " Certainly gentlemen, it ought to be the happi-
ness and glory of a representative to live in the strictest union, the
closest correspondence, and the most unreserved communication with
his constituents. Their wishes ought to have great weight with him;
their opinion, high respect; their business, uuremitted attention. It

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 283

is his duty to sacrifice his repose, his pleasures, his satisfaclion, to theirs ;
and above all, ever and in all cases to prefer their interest to his own.
But his unbiassed opinion, his mature judgment, his enlightened con-
science, he ought not to sacrifice to you, to any man, or to any set of men
living. These he does not derive from your pleasure — no, nor from
the la\v or the constitution. They are a trust from Providence, for
the abuse of which he is deeply answerable. Your representative
owes you not his industry only, but his judgment; and he betrays
instead of serving you, if he sacrifices it to your opinion.

" My worthy colleague says, his will ought to be subservient to yours.
If that be all, the thing is innocent. If government were a matter of
will on my side, yours without question ought to be superior. But
government and legislation are matters of reason and judgment, and
not of inclination ; and what sort of reason is that in which the deter-
mination precedes the discussion; in which one set of men deliberate,
and another decide ; and when those who form the conclusion, are
perhaps 300 miles distant from those who hear the arguments." He
then dwells on the respect to be paid by the representative to the
opinions of his constituents, as distinct from the notion of authorita-
tive instructions; and proceeds: " Parliament is not a congress of am-
bassadors from different states, and with hostile interests, which inter-
ests each must maintain as an agent and advocate against other agents
and advocates; but parliament is a deliberative assembly of one nation
with one interest, that of the whole ; where not local purposes, not
local prejudices ought to guide, but the general good, resulting from
the general reason of the whole. You choose a member, indeed; but
when you have chosen him he is not member of Bristol, but he is a
member of parliament." This bold assertion of his freedom, at such
a moment, speaks highly for the independent spirit of the speaker.
There never was a moment when the substance of Mr Burke's opinion
and the reasons by which it is maintained have been more important than
in the present. The numerous interests which constitute the whole of
a great country cannot be fully, fairly, or wisely viewed, unless in re-
lation to the whole ; the deliberation of parliament has to contemplate
and deal with a large adjustment of interests, which in some respects
conflict, but in a wider aspect promote each other. The public at
large is composed of classes, and on many of the most important ques-
tions can have but partial knowledge — no well-founded opinions: the
most decided and best grounded opinions will be those of the class
whom they concern, and will by that class be urged inconsiderately to,
and beyond their true application. The science of legislation does not
demand less wisdom, and is not less the result of study than numerous
other sciences on which no one would presume to speak without due
preparation. But then it will be observed that there are questions on
which a universal excitement is produced; — are these properly the
subject of popular decision? Assuredly not: the people, necessarily
ignorant beyond the sphere of their sensations, are on those occasions
actuated by the persuasion of a few. This is what is at present known
by the term agitation : it consists in expanding the will or opinion of
one, or of a few active-minded and ambitious, or it may be public-
spirited (but not very wise) individuals, over the lower classes of the

284 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

community. Its direct and immediate tendency is the dissolution of all
constitutional order. It may by chance be the essential effect of progress,
but when it is, the consequence is revolutionary; for it is when this be-
comes the required remedy of a vicious state of things, that the will of
the public, in its literal sense, is to be called into action. On such
occasions the wisest and best will be foremost, and there will be no
contest between ranks and orders: there will be no demagogues: these
are the true tests of the character of public movements. It is for these
reasons, to which we give the least possible expansion, that we think
it important to look discriminativelyon the claims of what is called public
opinion. The real grievances of the people, such as they can under-
stand because they feel them, are an essential part of the concern of
government: to impart to the people a full sense of these, demands no
dictation from popular orators : but to redress them, always demands
a degree of skill, which none but the most informed legislator can
possess. The agitator cannot be further debased from his noisy office of
disseminating popular malcontent and folly ; but members of the legis-
lature are false to their duty when they sanction a principle so false
and pernicious, and the parliament is wanting to itself when its asser-
tion is countenanced by being tolerated in the debates.

It was about this time (1774) that Mr Burke entertained his friend
Dr Johnson at Beaconsfield, together with the Thrales. Johnson,
though violent in his aversion to whigs, yet made an exception in
favour of the only contemporary to whose intellect he allowed a real
superiority. To Mr Burke alone he was accustomed to listen with
respectful deference, and often with an admiration commensurate with
his own keen perception of all intellectual excellence. Johnson dealt
in that class of notions which lie within the range of practical exist-
ence— the business and bosom of life: he was a sagacious observer, a
dexterous logician, a humourist, and a wit. In some of these respects,
Mr Burke was his equal; in none much his inferior. But, in addi-
tion, Mr Burke had a range of his own, in which, like the eagle, he
towered alone, and glanced afar on the objects of a wider horizon.
He had the comprehension that could grasp the complicated and vari-
ous interests of nations — the unwearied nerve of attention, and vigour
of reason, that could master and reduce to order the most numerous
and remote details — the imagination that could imbody — the fancy
and passion that could animate and enliven the least promising state-
ments. Mr Prior, in his elaborate comparison between the two, ob-
serves:— "Johnson, on the whole, had more erudition; Burke, inex-
haustible powers of imagination. Johnson possessed a pungent, caustic
wit ; Burke, a more playful, sarcastic humour; in the exercise of which,
both were occasionally coarse enough. Johnson, had his original pur-
suits inclined that way, would have made no ordinary politician ; Burke
was confessedly a master in the science ; in the philosophy of it, he is
the first in the English language, or perhaps in any other; and in the
practice of it, during the long period of his political career, was second
to none. Added to these were his splendid oratorical powers, to which
Johnson had no pretension!" Such a companion, to one like Johnson,
was as a volume of perpetual meditation and interest; for, with a more
bounded compass, the doctor was keen to follow, and prompt to seize

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 285

new thoughts. Mr Burke supplied a fuel for thought, which, next to
the pleasure of dictation to his wondering1 hearers, the doctor loved
the best. Mr Burke, whose affections and hospitality of temper were
not less remarkable in their more limited sphere than his more eminent
qualities, was the life and delight of his own circle ; and while he ex-
erted all his fascination to make his home agreeable to his revered
friend, he softened and repressed the exercise of that power which,
elsewhere, at times, made their intercourse less grateful to one whose
ambition was colloquial victory. While wandering through the
grounds, Dr Johnson is mentioned to have expressed his admiration of
his friend's good fortune and good taste. After indulging -in a fit of
that thoughtful meditation to which he was accustomed, he broke silence
with the exclamation, " Non equidem invideo, miror magis!" In the
same year, Mr Burke had the opportunity to defend the doctor's pen-
sion in the house against Mr Thomas Townsend.

In the mean time, the excitement of public feeling upon the Ame-
rican question continued to increase in all its tendencies. George
III., with an inflexibility for which he cannot be fairly condemned,
regarding it as his duty, was firm in his resolution against con-
cession. The people of England, with more of national pride, and
less of principle, shared in this disposition; but they were mainly
actuated by the desire to divide their burdens with the colonies.
On the other hand, the mercantile classes and communities, with
increasing anxiety, deprecated the course which they saw must end
in hostilities. From these Mr Burke received increasing testimonies
of the value of his exertions to stay the infatuated policy of govern-
ment. In 1775, he received a public letter of thanks from the mer-
chants of Birmingham. He this year came forward with a proposal
of thirteen resolutions for conciliation, which he introduced with a
speech no less celebrated for its effects than that of the previous
year. It contains many of those passages of consummate eloquence,
only to be paralleled in his speeches ; in which the highest and
most kindling imagination takes its ground on the profoundest reason,
and the most permanent and vital truth. It is with regret that we for-
bear from the example of others, who, pursuing a more detailed course,
have made liberal extracts. Lord Chatham remarked, that it was
"very seasonable, very reasonable, and very eloquent;" and Mr Fox,
twenty years after, said of it, in the house, " Let gentlemen read this
speech by day, and meditate upon it by night; let them peruse it
again and again, study it, imprint it on their minds, impress it on their
hearts." Now that the question is settled, and that time has approved
the policy of Mr Burke, praise of no mean kind may be extracted from
the censure of those who looked upon him as a formidable adversary.
Thus, dean Tucker (says Mr Prior) " represented him as the most
artful reasoner living; one who could amuse with tropes, and figures,
and fine words, without allowing his design to be seen, till he had
intrapped the reader or hearer irrecoverably in the meshes of his
argument."

In the summer Mr Burke paid a second visit to Paris. There, as
on the previous occasion, he saw with repugnance and dislike the
visionary and unpractical tendency which the philosophes were gra-

286 POLITICAL SERIES. [FltTH

dually imparting to the national mind. The consequences lay yet far
within the clouds of the future ; Mr Burke thoroughly understood, and
often stigmatized in his speeches the absurdity of such philosophy
when applied to questions of government; but there was a tone of
spirit then apparent in the society of the French metropolis, which de-
manded no supernatural insight to associate with gloomy and sad fore-
bodings for coming times. There was a libertinism in politics, reli-
gion, and morals, inculcated in the upper and among the middle ranks,
with a brilliant competition, by those men who were the well-known
heralds, and most of them the first apostles of the most blighting revo-
lution which ever fell upon a great people. In looking on such por-
tentous signs, the wisest and best men are seldom hardy enough to
follow them to the results they foreshadow. The tendency to look
hopefully on the destinies of man, suggests the hope that such visita-
tions are but transient; it is felt vaguely that truth and reason must
prevail, and that quacks and mountebanks cannot abide the test of
time. The impression is most just: but that it allows too much for
the good sense of the world, and too little for the rapidity and diffu-
siveness of impulses originating in its passions and frailties ; the mis-
chief is soon done; but the triumph of truth is too often the gift of
experience. At this moment, the dawn of change, terror, and destruc-
tion was on its way; the dawn perhaps of a better day to come, but
itself originating in madness and crime.

The struggle with America was not without its widely influential
moral efficacy on the minds of observing nations. The discussion was
everywhere pursued, and, as will ever be the case, on principles far
too wide and abstract ; ho\vever just may have been the conclusion,
folly had considerable share in the argument; however glorious the
triumph of liberty, it was not altogether a triumph of truth. French
philosophy was not slow in imparting its poison to a spirited nation which
eagerly looked to France for aid; France, too, had her representatives
and scholars in the school of American revolution. Every nation of
Europe had some blood relationship in the stirring and striving scene.
Agitation never found so fair a field; for there was a broad basis of
right and truth, which, when once seized upon, and echoed by unre-
flecting millions, would not fail to be applied where it had no applica-
tion. Mr Burke, of course, could frame no adequate conception of
the events; but, with the reason of a keen and skilful statesman and
casuist, he saw what was erroneous in theory, and criminal in practice,
and he was perhaps thus prepared with alert and sharpened apprehen-
sion to appreciate events when they had attained a more forward growth.
He obtained another opportunity for a splendid speech in this year,
in which he still affirmed with confidence that the adoption of the
policy which he had been uniformly proposing, would have the effect
of pacifying America; and that he was probably right has been in-
ferred from the difficulty with which the declaration of independence
was carried by the States, — " One," says Mr Prior, " of the most
curious facts perhaps in modern history. Six States voted for, six
against that measure ; and the delegates of Pennsylvania were equally
divided in opinion, when at length a member, who had hitherto strenu-
ously opposed it, suddenly changed sides, and decided the question."

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 287

Meanwhile, Wood was drawn in the field, and the American war
began : its progress is foreign from our task. The successive dis-
cussions to which it continued to give rise, involve no principle not
previously applicable. One feature of considerable importance, con-
nected with future statements, is the part which France and Spain,
though yet at peace with England, took in the struggle. Their nume-
rous privateers, vessels chiefly employed about the West India Islands,
were employed in the service of America. They were formally fitted
out with American papers and ensigns, but chiefly manned by subjects
of France and Spain. There was no doubt of the hostile policy of these
two courts, and the facts admit of none; but it was the first origin of
future troubles. A continued sympathy, and an active communication,
were kept up between France and the provinces; and the Americans
were encouraged to look for decisive aid from the French. French
enterprise and adventure sought, and were encouraged by their govern-
ment in seeking, this new field of enterprise : many, too, went to teach
and learn lessons by which France was afterwards to profit. To leave
as little doubt as possible on the connexion of events, it will be only
needful to observe well the tone and character of the demagogues and
principal leaders of the public mind in the colonies. Among the peo-
ple, there was no object beyond the complaints which were publicly
expressed ; but there is every reason for the conclusion that Franklin
and other influential persons, all through, contemplated independence,
but were still compelled to suppress views which, until the public mind
should first be prepared by events, might have an effect unfavourable
to their design. To awaken the desired feeling, means were now used:
of these, the most effective was the clever sophistry of the infamous
Tom Paine. Franklin, while in England, had early observed his fit-
ness for the work of revolution, and advised him to seek his fortunes
in America. Paine acceded; and, having made his way to Philadel-
phia, soon became an active propagator of opinions of a republican
texture. Of his pamphlet " Common Sense," it may be said to have
been a main instrument, by the vastness of its circulation, and the un-
precedented popularity it at once obtained. It is generally admitted
by the historians of the American war, that its appearance quickly and
effectively altered the popular mind. This opinion is strongly attested
by the fact of ihe public rewards and honours which were his compen-
sation. He received grants and promotions, and was long looked to as
the oracle of all their measures.

It was, of course, seen by numerous observers, abroad and at home,
that the same rash counsels which had hurried on the war, were now
engaged in directing it to no good issue. The Opposition in the
British parliament was, from time to time, loud in proclaiming the
errors of the war, in praising the valour, and elating the confidence of
the colonists. The distance and geographical character of the country
were each the cause of inconveniencies, difficulties, and dangers: the
troops were necessarily inadequate in numbers ; wanting in resource,
and acting over a spacious and difficult country, little inhabited, inter-
sected by vast rivers, and covered in every quarter with vast and track-
less forests. These considerations were vainly pressed on the minister;
and it was urged that a naval force alone could have any efficiency.

2S8 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII

The declaration of independence shocked Mr Burke, because he had
really formed no views on the subject. He considered the existing inter-
ests of America, and the supposed wishes of the Americans; he saw the
wretched instrumentalities which early menaced a young people, still
seemingly with narrow resources, and little discretion; he felt their
relationship of blood: but, above all, the honour and safety of England
lay at his heart ; and many reflections could not fail to be awakened,
which will hereafter more distinctly come under our notice. England,
thus engaged in a rash and ill-concerted war with her colonies, was
also menaced by her powerful neighbours.

In the termination of 1776, the marquis of Rockingham, with his
party, for a time entertained the design of an entire secession from
parliament on all American questions. This was, howevei', prevented
by Mr Burke's arguments, in a letter addressed to the marquis. On
the 6th of February following, he made a speech on the employment
of the American Indians in the war. The effect of this speech was
such as to excite extraordinary admiration in the hearers. Colonel
Barre said, that, if it were published, he would nail it up beside the
proclamation for a general fast; and governor Johnstone exclaimed,
that it was fortunate for the noble lords (lords North and Germaine)
that there were no strangers present. Sir George Saville, himself a
first-rate speaker in the house, said, " He who did not hear that speech,
has not witnessed the greatest triumph of eloquence within memory."

A few days after, lord North brought forward a plan of conciliation,
founded on that formerly proposed by Mr Burke, and was taunted by
Mr Fox for having adopted these opinions " from his honourable
friend." It is, however, evident enough that the question had shifted
its grounds altogether in the minds of Americans.

In the same session, proposals were made by lord Nugent for the
revisal of the Irish commercial restrictions. Mr Burke supported the
motion, in a speech which drew upon him the displeasure of his con-
stituents. In Ireland, on the other hand, it excited a popularity of the
most ardent kind ; and, there, proposals were entertained to set up his
statue. But the support which he gave afterwards to Sir George
Saville's bill, though highly offensive to his constituents, and in part
the means of his being subsequently rejected at the general election,
was insufficient to satisfy the ferocity of national zeal and party spirit
in his native country; and he was as much abused and vilified in Ire-
land now, as he had been, a little before, praised and applauded. It
was among the high moral virtues of Mr Burke to have become nerved
against the uncertain changes of popular opinion. He, nevertheless,
felt it right to explain the motives of his conduct to Mr Burgh, in a
letter, which was circulated, and found its way to the press, though
such was by no means the intention of Mr Burke.

There was this year felt much pressure, from the financial embar-
rassments caused by the war: the public discontent was increased by
many of its incidents, and its general want of success: the expectations
of the country had been disappointed, and the heavy expense had only
purchased failure and disgrace. In consequence, there was a loud cry
for parliamentary reform and retrenchment. Reform has ever been
the popular panacea for all public discontents : its effect is to alter the

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 289

balance of power in the orders of the state. As understood in Eng-
land, this alteration must have operated, so far as it had any operation,
to transfer power from the higher to the lower classes. Such a pro-
cess must have been prejudicial, or not, according to the actual state
of both. At that period there were numerous influences at work, of
which it had been the tendency to produce this very effect, to an extent
of which the advantages were doubtful, and the disadvantages, though
not quite developed, great, obvious, and certain. But it has ever been the
favourite resource of the demagogue — for it serves the two dominant
dispositions of his nature — to acquire a low popularity, and to pull
down those who are exalted. Mr Burke, who was solely influenced by
his own views of what was best for the public good, was at no time
seduced into the support of this great popular question; and he was
already beginning to be impressed with a sense of the growth of a
democratic and levelling temper in England. He was also under the
conviction that much evil had been the result of the depression of the
aristocracy, which he attributed to the influence of the crown, directly
exerted for the purpose. Under this double persuasion, he made up
his mind as to the course of conduct best adapted to the occasion.
In precise accordance with this general view, the conduct of Mr Burke
will be found, on fair consideration, to be consistent with the principles
of a constitutional whig of the Revolution of 1688; prompt to repress
all encroachments on the liberty of the subject, without conceding to
the still more menacing encroachments of popular exaction. He had,
however, at the time of which we speak, fallen into a degree o£ un-
popularity, the fruit of his conduct on the Irish and American ques-
Uons, which the party with whom he still continued to be entangled
considered as a considerable deduction from his value. His friends
"elt, and he could not help feeling, that some effort was wanting to
•estore the efficiency of his power over the popular mind. The popu-
'ar cry was for reform and retrenchment: Mr Burke, in conformity
with his own principles, undertook- to bring forward the latter. With
the independence of his character, he spurned from him the senseless-
outcry of the people, and at the same time engaged in an attack of
unprecedented boldness and self-devotion upon the profuse and pro-
digal jobbing of the court. Still, under the fallacious impression
of his party, that the influence of the crown was obtaining a dan-
gerous preponderance, he devoted himself and his prospects to the
duty of resistance. It was on the 15th of December, 1779, that he
gave notice of his motion for retrenchment; and on the lltli of the
following February, that he introduced it, with a speech which is well
known to every political student. It is not necessary to enter on the
subject; but the effort of genius, and its effects, cannot be passed in
silence. Mr Prior writes:- — " No public measure of the century re-
ceived such general encomium. Few speeches, from the opposition
side of the house, ever fell with greater effect than this; and of itself,
had he never made any other, would place the speaker in the first rank
of orators and practical statesmen, for comprehensiveness of design,
minute knowledge of detail, the mingled moderation and justice towards
the public and to the persons affected, the wisdom of its general prin-
ciples, and their application to local objects." After enumerating the
VOL. v. T

290 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

various objects of retrenchment, running through the whole establish-
ment of the crown, in all its departments, Mr Prior stops to praise the
singular boldness of the plan. But we must leave room for contemporary
praises, which Mr Prior, with a laudable industry, has selected and
preserved. " It must remain," said Mr Dunning, in a burst of admi-
ration, " as a monument, to be handed down to posterity of his un-
common zeal, unrivalled industry, astonishing abilities, and invincible
perseverance. He had undertaken a task big with labour and diffi-
culty— a task that embraced a variety of the most important objects,
extensive and complicated; yet such were the eminent and unequalled
abilities ; so extraordinary the talents and ingenuity ; and such the for-
tunate frame of the honourable gentleman's mind; his vast capacity,
and happy conception ; that, in his hands, what must have proved a vast
heap of ponderous matter, composed of heterogeneous ingredients,
discordant in their nature, and opposite in principle, was so arranged
as to become quite simple as to each respective part dependent on each
other; and the whole, at the same time, so judiciously combined, as to
present nothing almost, to any mind tolerably intelligent, to divide,
puzzle, or distract it."

" Mr Burke's reform bill," says Gibbon, " was framed with skill,
introduced with eloquence, and supported by numbers. Never can I
forget the delight with which that diffusive and ingenious orator was
heard by all sides of the house, and even by those whose existence he
proscribed." Of these latter, Mr Gibbon was himself one. Numerous
other testimonies equally strong and explicit might be brought for-
ward.

The bill was committed, and several months were occupied in the
discussion of its clauses, during which Mr Burke continued the struggle
against ministerial odds, with a degree of wit, argument and eloquence,
which were the wonder and admiration of the house. Having made
up his mind to defeat, he came to the discussion with " all that ready
wit, pleasantry and good humour, which are the real features of his
character."

The speech is still to be found in his published works, and may
without any doubt be recommended as among the most standard efforts
that ancient or modern times have produced, whether judged as a
speech, or as a masterly exposition on the subject it treats. Like
many of Mr Burke's highest efforts, no passage can be selected without
some injustice to all the rest; but we select ours not as a specimen,
but because it happily exemplifies one quality of the speaker's mind,
which we have already taken some pains to illustrate: we mean his
lofty imagination, and the congenial veneration with which it turned
to the solemn and sublime. Speaking of the expenses lavished upon
waste and useless labours, he proceeds to show that the change of
manners has antiquated and rendered obsolete the use of the ancient
gothic establishments of state; "the royal household has lost all that
is stately and venerable in the antique manners, without retrenching
anything of the cumberous charge of a gothic establishment;" dwelling
a moment on this, he goes on " but when the reason of old establish-
ments is gone, it is absurd to preserve nothing but the burthen of
them. This is superstitiously to embalm a carcass not worth an ounce

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 291

of the gums that are used to preserve it. It is to burn precious oils
in the tomb ; it is to offer meat and drink to the dead ; not so much
an honour to the deceased, as a disgrace to the survivors. O'&r
palaces are vast inhospitable halls. There the bleak winds, there
' Boreas, and Eurus, and Caurus, and Argestes loud,' howling through
the vacant lobbies, and clattering the doors of the ancient guard- rooms,
appal the imagination and conjure up the grim spectres of departed
tyrants — the Saxon and the Norman and the Dane — the stern
Edwards, and the fierce Henrys who stalk from desolation to desola-
tion through the dread vacuity, and melancholy succession of chill and
comfortless chambers. When this tumult subsides, a dead and still more
frightful silence would reign in this desert; if every now and then,
the tacking of hammers did not announce that those constant atten-
dants in all courts, jobs, are still alive; for whose sake alone it is that
any trace of ancient grandeur is permitted to remain. These palaces
are true emblems of some governments; the inhabitants are decayed,
but the governors and magistrates still flourish. They put me in
mind of Old Sarum, where the representatives, more in number than the
constituents, only serve to inform us that this was once a place of
trade, and sounded with the ' busy hum of men,' though now you can
only trace the streets by the colour of the corn."

We cannot enter at length into the history of the riots in London,
excited by lord George Gordon. Mr Burke was among those whose
parliamentary conduct had been such as to render him particularly
obnoxious to the agitated mob, which for a few days menaced the
safety of London. The circumstances are memorable for the calm
and lofty courage which they were the occasion to call forth. Mr
Burke came to town, and as he himself mentions in a letter " my wife
being safely lodged, I spent part of the next day in the street amidst
this wild assembly, into whose hands I delivered myself, informing
them who I was!" Mr Prior, from whom we have extracted this
passage, also quotes a newspaper to the following effect: — " This day
(June 6th,) a detachment of foot-guards took possession of the West-
minster hall, the doors of which they at last closed to prevent the
mob from entering there : several members of both houses who walked
down on foot, were thus prevented from getting into the house for a
considerable time, among whom was Mr Burke, who was presently
surrounded by some of the most decent of the petitioners, who expos-
tulated with him on his conduct, in abetting Sir George Saville's mo-
tion for the Roman catholic bill. Mr Burke, in his defence said, that
he had certainly seconded the motion for the bill, and thought himself
justified in so doing; he said he understood he was a marked man
on whom the petitioners meant to wreak their vengeance ; and there-
fore he walked out singly among them, conscious of having done
nothing that deserved their censure in the slightest degree, having
always been an advocate for the people, and meaning to continue so."
A strong proof and illustration of the universal spirit in which Mr
Burke's mind embraced the true interests of humanity as the funda-
mental ground of his actions, is the fact that in this year he conceived
and arranged a plan for the mitigation of that darkest spot in human
history, the slave trade. It was for strong party reasons considered

292 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

objectionable to bring forward such a measure, the opposition feared
the powerful parties which would be offended by so decided and bold
ail interference with great commercial interests. Mr Burke was the
more ready to concede the point to the great party with which he
was as yet inextricably entangled, because he was well aware that the
effort must be ineffectual against the strength of government, backed
by the strongest corporate interests. The plan which he drew up
may be found among his writings ; it is like all his works of the kind,
a remarkable proof of indefatigable industry and comprehensive views —
it still more remarkably proves the intelligence far ahead of his gene-
ration, His views have been at last adopted and carried into effect in
our own time, even to the adoption of his language.

On the dissolution of parliament in 1780, he went to Bristol to
stand his election. He was well aware of the probabilities which
existed against him. His conduct had on two eminent occasions been
directly opposed to the wishes of his constituents; and he knew
that complaints of the most illiberal kind had been made of his ne-
glect to visit that city. On this occasion he addressed the electors in the
Guildhall, in a speech well known, and deservedly placed at the head
of all popular speeches for its singular combination of fine tact and ad-
dress, with a frankness and manliness not often to be detected in the
language of public men. He vindicated himself by maintaining his prin-
ciples of conduct: the invidious charge of neglect he repelled by a brief
and forcible statement of his services; his labours for individual con-
stituents had been as great and onerous as if he had laboured in no
other character than as an agent, a solicitor, and a shipbroker. " A
visit to Bristol," he said, " is always a sort of canvass ; else, it will do
more harm than good. To pass from the toils of a session to the toils
of a canvass is the farthest thing in the world from repose. I could
hardly serve you as I have done, and court you too. Most of you have
heard that I do not very remarkably spare myself in public business;
and in the private business of my constituents I have done very near
as much as those who have nothing else to do. My canvass of you
was not on the 'change, nor in the county meetings) nor in the clubs
of this city. It was in the house of commons — it was at the custom-
house— it was at the council — it was at the treasury — it was at the
admiralty — I canvassed you through your affairs, and not in your
persons. I was not only your representative as a body, I was the
agent, the solicitor of individuals; I ran about wherever your affairs
could call me, and, in acting for you,, I often appeared rather as a
shipbroker than as a member of parliament."

He then complained that while he had been engaged in the labo-
rious details of the economical reform bills, a canvass against him had
been carried on with great activity in that city; that promises and
pledges had been sought for to move him from his seat as if he had
been dead, or as if his laborious performance of a duty which bound
him to the last day of session, had been regarded as the resignation of
his seat. He next, delicately but forcibly, reminded them of the
delusions into which they had been led respecting the American war,
as a motive at one time for not visiting them. He next entered upon
their main charges, and justified himself boldly on his conduct upon the

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 293

question of Irish trade and the Catholic relief bill. These general
questions we shall not enter upon here, but his bold and characteristic
introduction must not be omitted. " As to the other matters objected
against me, which, in thei-r turn, I shall mention to you; remember,
once more, I do not mean to extenuate or excuse. Why should I,
when the things charged are among those upon which I found all my
reputation? What would be left to me if I myself were the man who
softened, and blended, and diluted, and weakened all the distinguishing
colours of my life, so as to leave nothing determinate or distinct in my
whole conduct?" He then discusses his conduct in the Irish trade bill,
and on the relief bill, briefly, and with force unusual even beyond his
accustomed power. On his part in lord Beauchamp's bill for reform-
ing the law process concerning imprisonment, he is equally forcible.
In the course of his remarks on this point, he introduces a eulogy -on
Mr Howard, which has been often quoted for its beauty. " I cannot,"
he said, " name this gentleman, without remarking that his labours
and writings have done much to open the eyes and hearts of mankind.
He has visited all Europe ; not to survey the sumptuousness of palaces,
or the stateliness of temples ; not to make accurate measurements of
the remain* of ancient grandeur, nor to form a scale of the curiosity
of modern art; not to collect medals or to collate manuscripts; — but
to dive into the depths of dungeons; to plunge into the infection of
hospitals; to survey the mansions of sorrow and pain; to take the
gauge and dimensions of misery, poverty, and contempt ; to remember
the forgotten; to attend to the neglected; to visit the forsaken; and to
compare and collate the distresses of all men in all countries. His plau
is original ; it is as full of genius as it is of humanity. It was a voyage
of discovery ; a circumnavigation of charity. Already the benefits of his
labour is felt in every country ; I hope he will anticipate .his final re-
ward by seeing all its effects fully realized in his own." These senti-
ments are not only valuable because they are beautiful and just, but
because they, with peculiar felicity, describe the whole heart of the
speaker. Varying as every man who has much in him will vary through
life in opinions, which progress with circumstances and the accumula-
tion of knowledge, Mr Burke's conduct is invariably to be referred to
the profound humanity of his nature, and his fondness "for the right."
But, while he was yet connected with a great party, which like all great
parties, looked, in the main, exclusively to aggrandizement and power —
to the contest of faction — and the establishment of their own views in
opposition to those of their antagonists ; and while this great party to
which he was attached, was fast undergoing a degrading change,
from liberality to liberalism, and suffering a strong infusion of new,
powerful, and unprincipled mind; the love of right — the redress of
real grievances — the remedy of real defects — will be found as clearly
originating and governing his conduct from first to last. Referred
to merely party tenets, his conduct will be often hard to reconcile ;
and some such difficulties have arisen, because men are accustomed so
to refer all political conduct: but referred to the great fundamental
elements of social order, the principles of right, truth, and justice, and
even to that enlarged expediency which Mr Burke himself has so
well described, no difficulties appear; no change can be detected.

294 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

His party changed, but he continued firm to the only principles he
ever professed.

Mr Burke's address to the electors concluded with a characteristic
touch of pathos. After stating the crimes of which he was not charged,
he proceeded — " The charges against me are all of one kind — that I
have pushed the general principles of justice and benevolence too far;
further than a cautious policy would warrant; and further than the
opinions of many would go along with me. In every accident that
may happen me through life, in pain, in sorrow, in depression, and
distress, I will call to mind this accusation, and be comforted."

The most respectable portion of the constituency would have unques-
tionably supported him had he stood the contest: as he said in his
parting address, if he were so inclined, he had in his hands the means
of a sharp contest. But the fickle and capricious breeze of popularity
had taken a decided turn, and he made up his mind to decline pro-
ceeding further. This he announced in a plain brief address, remark-
able for its genuine and unaffected manliness of spirit and character-
istic sincerity.* He was returned for Malton, which he continued
to represent during the rest of his public life. There is a very highly
characteristic story of Mr Burke, of which the origin is referred by
his historians to this period of his life. While remaining at his friend
Mr Noble's, a respectable citizen of Bristol, he met a clergyman, who
was an inmate of the house, and in whose conversation and manners
he discerned much to be pleased with and approve. Having learned
that this worthy gentleman was simply a poor curate, he expressed his
wish to have an opportunity to be of use to him. It was some years
after, that the incumbency, in which the clergyman had been, and con-
tinued to be, still as curate, fell vacant by the rector's death, on which
he applied to Mr Noble to remind Mr Burke of his promise. The
preferment was in the gift of the Prince of Wales. Mr Burke imme-

BRISTOL, September Glh, 1780.

* At a great and respectable meeting of the friends of Edmund Burke, Esq.,
held at the Guildhall this day : The Right Worshipful the Mayor in the chair.
— Resolved, " That Mr Burke as a representative for this city, has done all possi-
ble honour to himself as a senator and a man, and that we do heartily and honestly
approve of his conduct, as the result of an enlightened loyalty to his sovereign ; a
warm and zealous love to his country, through its widely extended empire ; a
zealous and watchful care of the liberties of his fellow-subjects; an enlarged and
liberal understanding of our commercial interest; a humane attention to the cir-
cumstances of even the lowest ranks of the community ; and a truly wise, politic,
and tolerant spirit, in supporting the national church, with a reasonable indulgence
to all who dissent from it ; and we wish to express the most marked abhorrence
of the base arts which have been employed, without regard to truth and reason, to
misrepresent his eminent services to his country.

Resolved, " That this resolution be copied out, and signed by the chairman,
and be by him presented to Mr Burke, as the fullest expression of the respectful
and grateful sense we entertain of his merits and services, public and private, to
the citizens of Bristol, as a man and a representative.

Resolved, " That the thanks of this meeting be given to the right worshipful
Lord Mayor, who so ably and worthily presided at this meeting.

Resolved, " That it is the earnest request of this meeting to Mr Burke, that
he should again offer himself a candidate to represent this city in parliament ;
assuring him of the full and strenuous support which is due to the merits of BO
excellent a representative."

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 295

diately proposed that the curate should write a letter to the Prince,
\vhich he undertook to present. The letter was accordingly written,
and Mr Burke repaired to Carlton House, was graciously received,
and succeeded according to his wishes — the prince at once granted the
prayer of the curate's petition. Mr Burke returned thanks; but in
the warmth of his feelings, the usual fulness of heart and head, carried
him on into the wonted flow of speech, and he was delivering an ani-
mated discourse on the duties and interests of princes, when the recol-
lection of the circumstances, and presence in which he stood, and a
sense of the violation of court usage, rushed upon his mind: he stopped
short, abruptly, and commenced an apology. " No apology is neces-
sary, my dear Mr Burke," said the Prince, with that grace for which
he was so remarkable, " from your lessons we all derive wisdom; and,
it is to be regretted, that so few imitate your candour."

The anecdotes which are on record of Mr Bnrke's humanity, indi-
cating that leading disposition of his mind, which is so essential to the
right understanding of any portion of his public conduct, are far too
numerous for our comparatively brief memoir. This we are bound to
state distinctly, because otherwise, some injustice follows the scanty
selection which we are enabled to make from the pages of Mr Prior
and others : facts which compose a uniform and characteristic distinc-
tion in the tenor of life, and peculiarly characteristic of the individual,
are in danger of appearing simply as accidental. There, is, perhaps, no
great man of whom such good deeds cannot be told; and, for the best
deeds, there may be motives of no very exalted kind. But with regard
to Mr Burke, we must emphatically say, that anecdotes such as the
above are not accidents, but rather specimens of that which is the
proper and unalienable character of Mr Burke's mind — a leading and
first principle to which the just biographer must per force refer, in the
explanation of all his political, as well as private life, and by which
alone, his virtues and infirmities can be truly understood. One more
anecdote from the deep and valuable repository of Mr Prior's extended
narrative, must be here related, not only for its intrinsic importance,
but. because it carries in it some evidence to these reflections, and
shows not only that such was Mr Burke's character, but that it was
so understood by the wise and good, and by all whose discernment
was not obscured by faction. With this preface, we shall give the
story in Mr Prior's own words; simply mentioning what this gentle-
man omits, we presume, from a motive of delicacy, the name of the
person to whom the story relates; the poet Crabbe, in whose lifetime
Mr Prior's book was published: — " It was about this period that the
kind feelings of Mr Burke were appealed to by a young and friendless
adventurer, subsequently an eminent poet, whose name on the present
occasion it is unnecessary to mention, who, buoyed up with the praise
his verses, had received in the country, and hope of bettering his fortune
by them in London, had adventured on the journey thither with
scarcely a friend or even acquaintance who could be useful to him,
and with no more than three pounds in his pocket. This trifle being
soon expended, the deepest distress awaited him. Of all hopes from
literature he was speedily disabused; there was no imposing name to
recommend his little volume, and an attempt to bring it out himself

296 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

only involved him more deeply in difficulties. The printer, it appeared,
had deceived him, and the press was at a stand from want of that
potent stimulus to action, which puts so much of the world in motion.
Hearing, however, or knowing something of an opulent peer then in
London, who had a summer residence in his native country, he pro-
posed to dedicate to him his little volume, and the offer was accepted;
but, on requesting a very small sum of money, to enable him to usher
it into the world, he received no answer to his application. His situa-
tion now became most painful; he was not merely in .want, but in
debt; he had applied .to his friends in the country, but they could
render him no assistance. His poverty had become obvious, he said
to the persons with whom he resided, and no further indulgence could
be expected from them; he had given a bill for part of his debt,
which, if not paid within the following week, he was threatened with
a prison; he had not a friend in the world to whom he could apply;
despair, he added, awaited him whichever way he turned.

In this .extremity of destitution, Providence directed him to venture
on an application to Mr Burke. He had not the slightest knowledge
of that gentleman other than common fame bestowed; no introduction
but his own letter stating these circumstances — no .recommendation
but his distress ; but, in the words he used in his letter, " hearing
that he was a good man, and presuming to think him a great one" he
applied to him, and as it proved, with a degree of success far beyond
any possible expectations he could form. Mr Burke with scanty
means himself, and unbribed with a .dedication, did that which the
opulent peer declined to do with it; but this was not all; for he gave
the young poet his friendship, criticism. and advice — sent some part of
his family round to their friends to collect subscriptions for his work,
introduced him to some of the first men in the country, and very
speedily became the means of pushing him on to fame and fortune."

This year, his son Richard Burke, was called to the bar, and took
chambers in the Middle Temple. Of this young man the very highest
expectations were formed by the affection of his sanguine and enthu-
siastic father. Much must be allowed for the magnifying tendency
of Mr Burke's imagination, when it became the slave of his humanity,
love, or any of the nobler emotions of his nature. But various con-
temporary authorities justify the inference, that young Burke was not
wholly unworthy of his father's sentiment of admiration. His talents
were known to be considerably above the common level, his acquire-
ments extensive, his amiability, good .feeling, affection for his father,
and generosity of character, conspicuous. He was the love and pride
of his parent, and his loss the last dark cloud under which that high
and magnificent spirit sunk broken to the grave.

In the session of 1780. and 1781, Mr Burke exerted himself with
all his wonted vigour in various questions in the front of his party.
On these we shall not enter, as it has been our object to reserve our
space for those great leading topics in which the .memory of Mr Burke
is more essentially involved. Some of these were however closely
connected with the history of his conduct with regard to India — to
these we may be led to revert summarily. We shall only here ob-
serve, that he early began to take such a part in Indian politics, as by

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 297

degrees not only to acquire a prodigious mastery of the subject,
but a deep interest in the welfare of that -wide section of the human
race, which led to and colours the events of one great portion of his
life.

It has been thought, that if the dissolution .of lord North's admin-
istration had occurred a few years sooner than it did, Mr Burke would
in all likelihood have been called to the head of public affairs. This
opinion is stated by Mr Prior; it is also highly supported by every
probable consideration. At the time to which it refers, Mr Burke
was at the head of the great party to which he belonged — his powers
justly appreciated on every side, and in every quarter — his wisdom
and virtue rightly judged — his services appreciated; and there was a
sense that in any great emergency, of which many already were be-
ginning to rise over the horizon of British prospects, his would be
the only head and heart to pilot the vessel of the^state. Such a selec-
tion, had, it is true, many obstacles, in the will of the king, in the
character of Mr Burke, in the constitution of party in general, and of
his party in particular. The king had been too long and too often
thwarted by the Rockingham party with which he disagreed in prin-
ciple. Mr Burke though united with that party as the main champion
and advocate of the great leading questions which engaged it, had yet
in his nature a strong bent which as it became developed into action,
was little congenial to the real views of any party, and irreconcilably
at variance with tlve growing divergency of Whiggism from its origi-
nal form and spirit. These considerations must be separately ex-
panded; .they are to be illustrated by different events in the order of
succession.

As the member -of a party, Mr Burke yet " stood alone," he was
among them, yet not of them. In the current of mingling characters
and motives, he was a drop which was borne in a stream with which
it could not mingle. Among his associates, the good loved him, the
wise revered him, but the good and wise are not the party. The in-
trigue, the selfishness, the narrow views which are prompted by
selfishness, and guided by intrigue, and of which power and the per-
sonal objects which it involves are the ultimate aims — the factious
espi'it de corps which is the combining principle of classes ; these
were the animating spirits of his party, as they ever were and will be
of all parties. In the midst of this most heterogeneous system of
motives and influences, there was no real sympathy with Mr Burke;
he was formidable and useful, and therefore he was honoured and
supported. He was the sail and helm, the master and pilot ; the mea-
sures which he advocated, whether on principle or from prepossession,
answered also the no less earnest but more mean views of opposition.
They ran a common course with different ends. But there was in all
Mr Burke's deportment, in his conversation, and in every minute detail
of his conduct, invariably something of the distinction on which we
have dwelt, too obvious not to be felt by all. His abstract enlarged
views, his continued reference to principles and aims essentially differ-
ent, his refinements and distinctions only important when referred to
the truth of things and the integrity of conduct, were all trifling,
wearisome and overpowering, to those to whom measures were but

298 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

stalking-horses, and maxims hoods and masks. All felt thoroughly, iii
proportion to the length of their views, that there must be a point of
separation: having different ends, there must come a separation in
the road. Admitting this statement, it will be easily understood
with what spirit Mr Burke's alliance was cherished for a long time by
the deep, ambitious, and intriguing policy of Mr Fox; and how little
there was in him to conciliate the support of the crowd, which is to
be won by promise, flattery, and subornation. On the accession of
his party to power, the supremacy of their leader was at an end.
From an enlightened guide and a vigorous pioneer in the shelter of
whose prowess they had advanced, he was at once felt to be an
obstacle, who could not accommodate himself to the occasion and the
views it might happen to bring forth.

We shall not trust our pen with the character of his pupil, friend,
and (we must say it,) perfidious rival, Mr Fox, whose talents and
popular qualifications have obtained for him a respect of which it is
difficult to understand the foundation ; it has survived his day ; history
has few such riddles as the eulogy of Mr Fox's admirers. The same pen
which mentions him as a prodigy of all the virtues, describes him with
unconscious censure as the slave of every vice.* Prodigal and profligate
in private life, inconsistent in his party, without any practical common
sense in his political aims, save that which can be resolved into a fiery
devotion to base popularity; but endowed with all the talents of de-
bate ; — all the attractions of manner and temper that acquire ascend-
ancy and influence. Artful and vigilant to discern and gain advan-
tages, without any principle to restrain; but outwardly, so frank,
manly, so kindly tempered, and so impulsive as to prevent suspicion,
turn jealousy aside, and win regard. He was constituted by nature
to play on a large scale the game of the demagogue — too vain,
ambitious, and unprincipled to take a higher aim, he availed himself
of his friends, of his party, of events, and of every turn and change of
public feeling to work his way to the head of affairs. He was strongly
endowed with those passions and sentiments which are mainly the
result of temperament, but which have the effect of imparting impulse
to all the moral affections; there was a warmth in his kindliness which
was rendered still more effective by the recklessness of temper which
gave a tone of artless simplicity to all he said; and which deceived
the most shrewd of those who fell under the attraction of his playful
and exuberant cordiality of manner. The whole compound was mag-
nified and rendered irresistible by the well-known prestige of public
admiration, splendid powers, and the associations which belong to
family importance."}" Such was the man, who first starting into public

* See Mr Wallace's Life of George IV.

f The following extract from Mr Prior, offers we think a sound and discerning
view of Mr Fox. " Mr Fox, his political pupil and friend, who had been for some
time treading closely upon his heels in parliament, and who had now advanced to
an equality in the conduct of business there and to superior popularity out of doors,
finally took the lead. For this there were some obvious reasons. Inferior to his
tutor as a great and commanding orator, and what ought to be of more consequence
to the country, as a wise and sound statesman, he frequently excelled most men
in vigour of debate ; but more especially possessed a peculiar tact beyond all h:s

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 299

life as the admirer and follower of Mr Burke, gradually passed him in
the race which he was more fitted to run, and stepped into the position
which Mr Burke could no longer hold, than while the whigs adhered
to the calm high course of their ancient political faith.

With such objects, and leaders well suited to those objects, when
Mr Burke's nominal followers came to the point at which their actual
views were to be apparently realized ; he was himself no longer in
any degree fitted for their purpose. He at once, from an effective engine
of progress, became an embarrassment and a restraint. It was secretly
felt that they would be less encumbered without him; but there was
still a deep habitual respect: there were ties of gratitude, veneration,
and strong regard. They could not even entertain the question of
shaking him off — nor if they did, might it seem an easy or even safe
attempt. But to place in the cabinet, an old leader so prompt, so
zealous, and so ready to put forth his heart and mind into his measures,
would be to adopt a master there: they considered him too peremptory,
earnest, and intractable, for any lesser part. But the high tone of irre-
spective truth, right and justice, were the decisive disqualifications of

contemporaries, and all his predecessors, without exception, for being at the head
of a poetical party. He enjoyed all the weight which birth and connexion (and
these are essential objects among the whigs of England) could give ; his acquaint-
ance with the great was necessarily extensive, and his friendships nearly as general
with the young, by community of pursuits and pleasures, with the old and staid,
by community of information and talent. His fortune originally was considerable,
had it not been squandered ; his temper in general easy ; his thirst for popularity
excessive ; his manner adapted to gain it ; andhis sacrificesto ensure it ; hisvery faults
were with many more matter of jest and favour than of censure. Some of his
doctrines were more to the taste of the people, who placed confidence in his
sincerity ; and with scarcely a shilling he could call his own, they were pleased to
think him in spirit the most independent.

" In all these points he had the advantage over his coadjutor, who also suffered
some loss of weight by his rejection at Bristol ; by his disregard of the popular
voice when he thought it ill directed ; by a more uncompromising temper ; by being
supposed to be a dependent of lord Rockingham, and among a certain class, by
being a native of Ireland. There was unquestionably a jealousy through life of
the merits and influence of Mr Burke, even among those who advocated the same
cause, which nothing but very uncommon powers and exertions enabled him to
surmount, and of which he frequently complained. Under all these disadvantages,
however, he had kept the effective lead in the commons for ten years ; and had
lord North fallen three years sooner, would have been made efficient minister ;
the common opinion, early expressed at the table of lord Rockingham, being that
' he was the only man who could save the empire from dismemberment." Even
just before that minister's resignation, he himself -remarks, he had obtained a con-
siderable share of public confidence, notwithstanding the jealousy and obloquy
which had assailed him during much of his career. ' I do not say I saved my
country — I am sure I did my country much service.' There were few indeed
that did not at that time acknowledge it.

" That Mr Fox should now prevail, with Westminster at his back, with unbounded
popularity in the nation, and the advantage of that aristocratic feeling in his
favour, obviously inherent in the public mind on all public matters, forms no cause
for surprise. Mr Burke who considered humility in the estimate of ourselves a
species of moral duty submitted to the sense of his party without a murmur. A
vain man would have resented this ; a weak one complained of it ; an ambitious
or selfish one probably taken advantage of it, on the first opportunity, to quit the
connexion for ever, and throw the weight of his name and talents into the opposite
scale."

300 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

Mr Burke. They would not have him in the cabinet; they could not
omit him in the list of office; they took a middle course, they pressed
it upon him to take office as pay master of the forces. This, with a seat in
the privy council, was his share in the distribution of office. The slight
was become less repugnant to the sense of his party, from the degree
of depreciation necessarily sustained by his removal from Bristol to a
borough: and it was felt or pretended to be felt, that it was desirable
to strengthen the new cabinet by a selection of persons of weight and
consequence. To all this, Mr Burke assented with the natural hu-
mility of his character, which Mr Prior remarks, (we think most truly,)
he carried too far, and to his own disadvantage through every part of
his public life. Indeed it was one of those high and beautiful features
of his mind, which operated often to his injury — in private and public
life, it rendered him liable to be set aside with facility, wherever any
personal interest of his own entered, or appeared to enter, into the
business. In the interest of others, and in the cause of mankind, his
firmness against all the influences which overpower the infirmity of our
nature, rose to a moral heroism unparalleled in history: but in his
nature all those strong sentiments which converge on self, were defi-
cient.

His conduct, with regard to his office, affords an ample justification
for the wisdom of those whose will and work it was to defraud him of
his appropriate place and authority. It placed beyond doubt his unfit-
ness for the purposes of party; and set, in the most conspicuous
light, his stern intractability to private motives. The established
emoluments of the office included the interest of a large portion of
public money lying in bank in the paymaster's name. This perquisite
of office amounted to something near £25,000 a-year. The appropria-
tion of this large emolument was perfectly admissible, on the ordinary
grounds recognised in human opinion: there was nothing in it which
was questionable, on the ground of honesty or honour; it was pre-
scriptive, and stood on admission. It was conformable to the purest
integrity ; but it had in it something repugnant to the more than Koman
virtue of Mr Burlce's mind. He could not reconcile it to his own
principles of public conduct, that a strenuous reformer of the public
economy should in his ©wn person present a flagrant case of the
most lavish improvidence : he could not brook the inconsistency of
such a perquisite, with the advocacy of economical reform. He
did what no other public person, of whom we have any present re-
collection, would have done — he relinquished the whole. The nar-
rowness of his income, with his free hospitality and lavish generosity,
made and kept him poor. He was frequently embarrassed ; and, both
by his wants and natural inclinations, must have been fully sensible of
the temptation to increase his fortune. But his deep truth, his con-
sistency, and his entire nonconformity to the views and ends of faction,
are attested by the large sacrifice thus made without hesitation. The
fact ought to be fully appreciated, because it not only accounts for the
treatment of which he was the subject, but it contains the best reply
to all the invidious and unworthy slander which has been so industri-
ously employed in finding, by forced construction, low motives for all
his Actions. Every place-hunter, every keen jobber, and peculating

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 301

nibblers of official perquisite must have been the bitter enemies of such
a man; and felt their lowest bile stirred up by such a practical demon-
stration of hostility.

It is not essential here to go at length into the history of the short
administration now in office. The marquis of Ilockingham, admitted
with great reluctance by the king, entered upon office, with, stipulations
in themselves not of a nature to lessen the unfavourable impression.
It was understood that the concession of independence to America, with
certain measures of public reform, should be adopted by the govern-
ment. In consequence, Mr Burke was allowed to bring in. a bill for
the reform of the public expenditure, by which savings were effected
to the amount of £72,000 a-year. Many members of his party objected
to its falling short of his former bill; but Mr Burke had wisely, in the
present, looked to the consideration of what it would be possible for
him to effect. With great difficulty, he was at this time permitted to
carry through, the largest measure of its kind that had ever been
attempted by any one, or even contemplated by any administration. A
bill for the regulation of his own office followed, but was not carried
through. Many wise and able designs were cut short by the death of
the marquis of Rockingham, which dissolved the government. Lord
Shelburne w-as appointed to his place at its head, without the consent
or privity of the other members of the cabinet. In consequence, the
leading members at once sent in their resignations. Mr Pitt was
then appointed chancellor of the exchequer: Mr Burke made way for
colonel Barre-

The new administration did not stand long, nor does its history
offer much material for the present narrative. The debate on the
address, December 6, 1782, brought on an interesting collision between
Mr Burke and Mr Pitt, in which their respective powers of eloquence
appear to great advantage. Mr Fox, who succeeded them in the de-
bate, has given us the following commentary: — " He agreed totally
and entirely with his honourable friend, who had, with so much wit,
but not with more wit than argument and truth, exposed its absurdi-
ties and follies. It was the happy and en-vied talent of his honourable
friend to join wit so ingeniously with his argument, that he always
entertained while he instructed — that he enlivened while he enlight-
ened his auditors."

This administration was of brief duration: lord Shelburne was defi-
cient in party strength. Among the prominent leaders of the whigs,
whether in or out of office, some disliked, and the rest despised him.
He made overtures to Fox; but this gentleman, though quite willing
to come on any terms into place, would not consent to serve under
lord Shelburne : by a bold and reprehensible step, in contradiction to
his own public professions, he entered into a treaty with lord North ;
this led to the celebrated coalition, which has been so strongly, and,
we must allow, so justly, censured. With respect to the share of this
censure to which Mr Burke is fairly exposed, it would be miserable
trifling with principles to explain it away: we must, however, limit
its amount: it was one of a class of offences, of which the amount
must depend on the motive and design ; it does not arise from any
natural law, but from a very artificial convention. Its real character

302 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

of wrong arises chiefly from the mischiefs to which its general prac-
tice might lead ; and still more, the imputations to which it is liable.
Mr Burke's well attested moderation, his disregard of power and emo-
lument have proofs singular in the history of statesmen. His roman-
tic zeal for the general objects which he still imagined to be those of
his party, are equally placed beyond reasonable question: his consent
had, at least, no base or selfish motive. He was eager, too eager, for
the ascendancy of his party: he looked to vast questions, and to the
hope of effectuating measures of policy, which could be successfully
pressed only by a party armed with the powers and influence of office.
He had been the opponent of lord North; but it had been an opposition
unmixed with rancour ; he had not, like Mr Fox, pledged himself by
any express declaration on the subject. Mr Fox had indeed acquired, at
the time, the same powerful ascendancy over Mr Burke that he had over
every one else in connexion with him: he was, as yet, a transcendently
powerful ally in many a good cause; and he had, from causes already
noticed, become the great leader of the popular party. He coalesced
with lord North, as he would have coalesced with anybody, good or
evil, to force his way to the head of affairs. In consequence of the
coalition thus effected, Mr Fox was enabled to overturn the adminis-
tration of lord Shelburne, and to establish in its place one of too short
a duration to demand any special detail from us. To some facts we
may be compelled presently to revert; but, at present, it will be enough
to mention a trifling discussion, of which Mr Burke's official conduct
was the immediate subject. In the interval between his former resig-
nation and subsequent return to the pay-office, two of the principal
clerks of that office had been dismissed. Their imputed crime was con-
nivance at an act of peculation. Mr Burke, while carrying through
the reforms of his office, had received the most valuable assistance
from them ; their usefulness and general competency was so very
great, that their dismissal had nearly arrested the whole business of the
office, and the clerks had declared their inability to conduct it without
them. Mr Burke's first consideration was, that their dismissal was a
punishment so severe and ruinous, that it ought not to be inflicted
until the misdemeanor should be fully proved ; he consequently, and
we think justly as well as mercifully restored them ; for this, he was
attacked in the House during the spring, by lord Newhaven and Mr
Rolle — he defended himself on Mr Rolle's motion with his usual
eloquence. The accused clerks were tried on an information in the
court of King's Bench; one of them committed suicide, and the other
was found guilty. Mr Burke was, as usual, roughly handled for his
alleged leniency to these delinquents : but at worst, there is nothing
in the part he took of sufficient weight to demand any defence. From
the charge of confiding in the integrity of others, we have no care to
defend him — of zealous pity and protection for those whom he had
befriended and found useful in their proper departments, still less.
This was indeed in him one of the infirmities of a sanguine and lofty
mind, which lent its whole force to all his acts and thoughts. In the
high and elevated singleness of both his moral and intellectual nature,
he was little actuated in his judgments, by the conventional notions of
the world, — he was free from the common illusions which accompany

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 303

the tendency to impute low motives ; but on the other hand, he was
exposed to the errors which will always be liable to arise from this very
freedom: for, in the affairs of life, the judgments of mankind are
much enlightened by a familiar experience in low motives. Mr Burke's
mind stood in a higher atmosphere ; his were the faults and perfections
of those who see and reason for themselves. His own motives were too
noble for suspicion — his sense of right too deep to suffer him to be quick
in perceiving the Common want of real sympathy in other minds; but
the very same cause rendered his indignation fierce and longbreathed
when he found perfidy, injustice, and the violation of those principles
of right to which he found it hard to conceive any one indifferent.
In these considerations may be found the explanation of much of his
conduct, on which we have now to enter: — and it may be useful also
to recall another feature, which should be seen in connexion with them,
as it must lead to an important distinction. His mind was engrossed
with large and important questions, and it is from the consideration
of these that his conduct with regard to his party is to be judged.
He belonged to his principles and not to his party ; his party was
adhered to for its subserviency to his general views. On questions of
small moment, he did not exercise any discretion: such an unqualified
freedom would admit of no combined action.

It was indeed owing chiefly to this last mentioned tendency of mind
that Mr Burke so long continued to be entangled with the degene-
rated party of which he had long been the leader — bound by habits of
action and intercourse, as well as by strong affections and a constancy
of temper that was slow to admit any thought of change, he still was
carried on in the channels of old alliance, so long as none of the great
questions and fundamental views on which his political creed rested
became the cause of disunion. As Mr Burke has been, with much
acrimony, accused of inconsistency, it is our design to refer the fol-
lowing incidents of his political life to the principle mainly involved
in this statement — that he throughout adhered to his political creed,
with a constancy rarely to be equalled, and a tenacity approaching to
excess: and that he could not have adhered to his party without
abandoning his principles, and lowering his reputation. In matters
of inferior moment alone was he ever a partisan; in every important
question he himself gave the direction to his party. They deserted
their leader, and not he them.

One great incident of his life, was the means of prolonging his
connexion with the Fox party, long after he had begun to dissent
from their views : it was the trial of Warren Hastings. It was and is
still the ground of much severe censure, and was the means of im-
bittering his declining years. To relate its principal circumstances a
little more fully, though still too briefly, we pass over numerous de-
tails of inferior moment.

The history of British India is well known, how, in the course of a
century, a vast and magnificent empire grew up from a petty fac-
tory. To comprehend more thoroughly the great questions to which
we must advert, some attention must be paid to the means by which
this empire grew up, and its very peculiar constitution. In its first
growth it was painfully and laboriously fostered by all the arts of

304 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

circumvention and diplomatic address: gaining ground at home by
intrigue and bribery — in India by tolerance won from the native
princes, both on account of its weakness from which no danger was
apprehended — and from the wealth which it poured into their coffers.
— Enlarging its borders by favour and purchase, often experiencing
reverses from the fluctuations of party, from dissensions, from the
awakened suspicions and perfidious cruelty of the native kings, from
the intrigues of rival settlers, Dutch, Portuguese, and French; it still
gained ground through numerous vicissitudes and emergencies, but in
all by a policy, and against a policy, which made fraud and treachery
prescriptive principles. From the factory of Surat to the Presidency
of Calcutta, its progress was a continued struggle of force and strata-
gem, in which each party engaged on either side had recourse to pro-
ceedings which appeared to sanction similar retaliations. At last by
the bravery and military genius of one great man, the empire of British
East India was placed on a broad basis of superior strength, rivals
were overawed and reduced, and the native rulers, from being pro-
tectors, beeame by their own crimes and errors protected and depend-
ant. Right, as has often happened in the course of time, had slowly
changed sides; but a conventional system had also been established,
in which all the notions of European equity were unknown. Of this,
it seems to have been the latent but well understood principle, that
any stretch of fraud and violence wras justified by the safety of a great
empire, as well as by the fraud and violence against which it was
necessary to maintain it. This anomalous policy gave rise to,
sanctioned, and was supported by, a pervading dissoluteness in
the whole commercial intercourse of the settlement. From the Pre-
sident's council to the office of the lowest clerk, bribery was legiti-
mated; the natural corruptibility of men, sanctioned and excited by
habits and understandings, took a novel, and perhaps unprecedented
range ; so that deeds were done without shame or question, of
which the very slightest imputation in England would convey
infamy. The following representation is the forcible portraiture
of Mr Burke himself. " The natives scarcely know what it is
to see the grey head of an Englishman. Young men (boys almost,)
govern there without society, and almost without sympathy with
the natives. They have no more social habits with the people
than if they still resided in England ; nor, indeed, any species of
intercourse, but that which is necessary to making a sudden fortune,
with a view to a remote settlement. Animated with all the avarice of
age, and all the impetuosity of youth, they roll in, one after another;
wave after wave ; and there is nothing before the eyes of the natives
but an endless, hopeless prospect of new birds of prey and passage,
with appetites continually renewing for a food that is continually
wasting. *****

There is nothing in the boys we

send to India worse than the boys whom we are whipping at school, or
that we see trailing a pike, or bending over a desk at home. But as
English youth in India drink the intoxicating draught of authority
and dominion before their heads are able to bear it, and as they are
full grown in fortune long before they are ripe in principle, neither

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 305

nature nor reason have any opportunity to exert themselves for remedy
of the excesses of their premature power. The consequences of their
conduct, which in good minds (and many of theirs are probably such,)
might produce penitence or amendment, are unable to pursue the
rapidity of their flight. Their prey is lodged in England ; and the
cries of India are given to the waves and winds, to be blown about in
every breaking up of the monsoon, over a remote and unhearing ocean.
In India all the vices operate by which sudden fortune is acquired.
In England are often displayed by the same persons the virtues which
dispense hereditary wealth: arrived in England, the destroyers of the
nobility and gentry of a whole kingdom will find the best company in
this nation at a board of elegance and hospitality. Here the manufac-
turer and husbandman will bless the just and punctual hand that in
India has torn the cloth from the loom, or wrested the scanty portion
of rice and salt from the peasant of Bengal, or wrung from him the
very opium in which he forgot his oppression and his oppressor. They
marry into your families — they enter into your senate — they ease your
estate by loans — they raise their value by demand — they cherish and
protect your relations which lie heavy on your patronage — and there
is scarcely a house in the kingdom that does not feel some concern
and interest that makes all reform of our eastern government appear
officious and disgusting ;. and, on- the whole, a most discouraging
attempt; — in such an attempt you hurt those who are able to return,
kindness, or to resent injury. If you succeed, you save those who
cannot so much as give you thanks."

From these considerations, the difficulty which seems to- rest upon?
the history of the tr-ial of Mr Hastings, may be satisfactorily explained
to any one whose mind is disengaged from the prejudices which have
obscured it. They will on one side account for the strong impression
which existed among many respectable parties that Mr Hastings was
hardly treated: on the other, they add strong corroboration to the
opinion, (otherwise, indeed, amply verified,) that there was clear and
decided grounds to warrant Mr Burke's conduct, without the necessity
of any derogatory explanation.

There were, in fact, strong pleas in justification of Mr Hastings,
and such as would fully palliate any enormity in the eyes of the mere
public, and still more of the interested few. It appeared, as it ever
will appear, a hardship to be the first singled out to suffer the penalty
of long sanctioned offences. For men seldom weigh offences by the
strict scale of right and wrong, but by prejudice and habit. It seemed
partial, because it was new and singular ; anomalous, because it was not
the law as confirmed by practice. The iniquitous conduct of a long
conventional policy was suddenly arrested in the person of an indivi-
dual, in whose administration it rose to an unusual degree of atrocity.
But there were other grounds of palliation : the conduct for which Mr
Hastings was assailed, was strongly vindicated by the circumstances.
The total absence of sordid and selfish motives — the strong emergen-
cies which demanded it — and generally the fact that it was prescribed,
not only by the interests of the company, whose servant he was — but
by those of the British population in India, and by those of England.

On the other side, such considerations were not those likely to have

VOL. V. U

306 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

any weight in the judgment of Mr Burke. He was by no means severe
or fastidious in over strictly balancing the ordinary delinquencies of
private men, and little inclined to harshness, or even unreasonable
strictness in private transactions; because his views and even his pas-
sions were framed upon an unusually broad and extensive scale.
Conversant by nature and habit with wide theories and large ques-
tions, he had strong habitual impressions upon those comprehensive
truths which are seldom realized in the understanding of ordinary
men. To such a mind the great interests of humanity lost not an
atom of weight by distance, or by reason of the constitutional differ-
ence of language, manners, and opinions, which conceal from vulgar
apprehension the common nature of mankind. It was the master pas-
sion of Mr Burke to embrace with all the powerful sympathies of his
nature, and to conceive with all the grasp of his spacious comprehen-
sion, the remotest and most foreign aspects of humanity. The very
infirmities of his mind grew out of and confirmed this disposition: the
tenacity of purpose early observed — the self-accelerating enthusiasm,
and the sanguine temper — all had the effect of imparting a deep ear-
nestness of purpose, which when crimes and sufferings which obtained
a haunting command of his imagination, became the subject, lent to
his manner and language a spirited animosity, which to the vulgar
might appear vindictive, and by the misrepresentations of really vin-
dictive calumny, might be speciously so named.

Such is the view which an attentive perusal of the whole history of
British India, together with the trial of Mr Hastings, has irresistibly
impressed upon us. It is necessary to be brief and summary in the
particulars, which shall, however, be sufficiently stated to satisfy any
reasonable person as to the justness of our inferences.

The first distinct intimation we find of Mr Burke's intention, occurs
in December 1803j in his speech on Mr Fox's East India Bill, of which
he is generally supposed to have been himself the author. This bill
deserves also some passing notice, not only as illustrative of the points
which we have been pressing, but as leading to this illustration in the
language of Mr Burke himself.

The general s<;ope and intent of Mr Fox's bill was to vest the
affairs of the East India Company in the hands of commissioners ap-
pointed by government. The mismanagement of their financial con-
cerns, and still more the abuses of their administration, and the dis-
creditable and iniquitous policy pursued in their transactions with the
native princes, afforded grounds for interference, against which the
most effective defence on the other side, seems to have been the
plea of chartered rights. This point was afterwards urged against
Mr Burke as an inconsistency, when he became the strong de-
fender of right and order ; it will therefore be not unimportant to
hear his own defence: after remarking that there were four main
objections to the bill which he enumerates in order, he goes on to
explain that two things of different descriptions, are confused under
the phrase of chartered rights. Certain covenants by which the
rights and liberties of a nation are secured, are to be distinguished
from covenants granting special privileges and powers to a small
number of persons. These latter, he justly contended, involved

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 307

.trusts which may be almsed to the extent of forfeiture ; they may be
limited by the rights of the grantor, and cannot be allowed to trans-
gress the great inalienable rights of humanity. " The charters which
we call by distinction great, are of this [the first mentioned] nature;
I mean the charters of king John and king Henry the Third. The
things secured by these instruments may, without any doubtful ambi-
guity, be very fitly called the chartered rights of men. These charters
have made the very name of a charter dear to the heart of every English-
man. But, Sir, there may be, and there are charters, not only different
in nature, but formed on principles the very reverse of those of the great
charter. Of this kind is the charter of the East India Company.
Magna Charta is a charter to restrain power and destroy monopoly.
The East India is a charter to establish monopoly and to create power.
Political power and commercial monopoly are not the rights of men;
and the rights of those derived from charters, it is fallacious and
sophistical to call ' the chartered rig-hts of men.' These chartered
rights (to speak of such charters and their effects in terms of the
greatest possible moderation) do at least suspend the natural rights of
mankind at large; and in their very frame and constitution are liable
to fall into a direct violation of them." *

Having made this distinction, which cannot, we think, be conclu-^
sively resisted, he admits the right, under these conditions, to the fullest
extent. " But having stated to you of what description the chartered
rights are, which this bill touches; I feel no difficulty at all in ac-
knowledging the existence of those chartered rights in their fullest
extent. They belong to the company in the surest manner, and they
are secured to that body by every sort of public sanction. They are
stamped by the faith of the king — they are stamped by the faith of
parliament; they have been bought with money — for money honestly
and fairly paid ; they have been bought for valuable considerations,
over and over again. I therefore freely admit to the East India com-
pany, their claim to exclude their fellow-subjects, from the commerce
of half the globe. I admit their claim to administer an annual terri-
torial revenue of seven millions sterling; to command an army of
60,000 men; and to dispose (under the control of a sovereign imperial
discretion, and with the due observance of the natural and local law,)
of the lives and fortunes of thirty millions of their fellow-creatures.
All this they possess by charter, and by acts of parliament, in my
opinion, without a shadow of controversy."

He then dwells strongly on this admitted right, as involving a trust,
and as such rendering them accountable ; and infers that they must be
accountable to parliament, which is itself responsible as the author of
the trust. He then affirms that when a trust is betrayed, the contract
is broken, and that the grantor has a right of resumption. He next
describes the proposed bill as a " great charter" for the liberties of
Hindostan.

Mr Burke has been sometimes mentioned as a refiner and a meta-
physician, and charged with the faults of unpractical speculation. And
yet among the great reformers of past or present generations, he is to
be distinguished for the rejection of speculative reforms. In the
speech now under our notice, he expresses his own view of this subject

308 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

with the utmost force and distinctness, and his remarks may be offered
as expressive of the just distinction by which so much of his conduct
is to be rightfully tested. Men of narrow and indistinct conceptions are
not unfrequently led into the errors of vague theory, from the very
shortness of their powers of apprehension and discrimination. When
the limited range of common sense is overpassed, under the notion of
science or of liberal and enlarged views; by persons who are defi-
cient in those rare powers of systematic observation which can grasp
the actual whole of the social state — however subtle may be their reason,
however vast their powers of generalization, they will be found
among the fogs and vapours of theory. Mr Burke's wide glance on the
other hand, looked through the whole broad range of both the moral
and social nature of man — combined actual views of the processes of
change — the diversities and similarities of nations and their institu-
tions in one digested and arranged system of real knowledge arising
from the nature of things and not from the conjecturings of theory.
" I do not presume," he said, " to condemn those who argue a priori
against the propriety of leaving such extensive political powers in the
hands of a company of merchants. I know much is,, and much more may
be said against such a system. But, with my particular ideas and senti-
ments, I can-not go that way to work, I feel an insuperable reluctance in
giving my hand to destroy any established institution of government,
upon a theory, however plausible it may be. My experience in life
teaches me nothing clear upon the subject. I have known merchants
with the sentiments and abilities of great statesmen, and I have seen
statesmen with the conceptions and characters of pedlars. Indeed my
observation has furnished me with nothing that is to be found in any
habits of life as education, which tends wholly to disqualify men for
the functions of government, but that by which the power of exercis-
ing those functions is very frequently obtained; I mean a spirit, and
habits of low cabal and intrigue; which I have never in one instance
seen united with a capacity for sound and manly policy."

The bare perusal of this speech would perfectly satisfy any candid
person of the true spirit in which he entered upon the prosecution of
Mr Hastings. It displays the extent and magnitude of his views, the
enthusiasm with which they were entertained, and also the force with
which the objects of his attention became realized and rendered pre-
sent to his imagination. The following sketch will also help to
illustrate the industry with which he rendered himself master of his
subject; it will, further, show its true importance, and justify, as well
as explain, the impassioned zeal with which he was absorbed into it: —
" With very few, and those inconsiderable intervals, the British do-
minion, either in the Company's name, or in the name of princes
absolutely dependent upon the Company, extends from the mountains
that separate India from Tartary to Cape Comorin ; that is, twenty-one
degrees of latitude ! In the northern parts it is a solid mass of land,
about 800 miles in length, and 400 or 500 broad. As you go south-
ward it becomes narrower for a space. It afterwards dilates; but,
narrower or broader, you possess the whole eastern and north-eastern
coast of that country, quite from the borders of Pegu. Bengal,
Bahar, and Orissa, with Benares — now unfortunately in our imme-

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 309

diate possession — measure 161,978 square English miles; a territory
considerably larger than the whole kingdom of France. Oude, with
its dependent provinces, is 53,286 square miles, — not a great deal less
than England. The Carnatic, with Tanjore and the Circars, is
65,948 square miles, — very considerably larger than England ; and
the whole of the Company's dominions, comprehending Bombay and
Salsette, amount to 281,412 square miles, which forms a territory
larger than any European dominion, Russia and Turkey excepted.
Through all that vast extent of country, there is not a man who eats
a mouthful of rice but by the permission of the East India Company."

Having thus displayed the extent of these dominions, he proceeded
to estimate the population. He observed that a great decline in this
respect had attended the domination of the Company, and thus
summed the result, — " However, if we make the period of our
estimate immediately before the utter desolation of the Carnatic, and
if we allow for the havoc which our government had even then made
in these regions, we cannot, in my opinion, rate the population at
much less than thirty millions of souls ; more than four times the
number of persons in the island of Great Britain."

After going at more length into a detail of the ranks and values of
this population, he proceeds to state in very forcible terms the crimes
of the Company: — " First, I say that from Mount Imaus— or whatever
else you call that large range of mountains that walls the northern
frontier of India — where it touches us in the latitude of twenty-nine —
to Cape Comorin in the latitude of eight, that there is not a single
prince, state, or potentate, great or small, in India, with whom they
have come into contact, whom they have not sold. -I say sold, though
sometimes they have not been able to deliver according to bargain.
Secondly, I say that there is not a single treaty they have ever made
which they have not broken. Thirdly, I say that there is not a single
prince or state who ever put any trust in the Company, who is not ut-
terly ruined; and that none are in any degree secure or flourishing,
but in the exact proportion to their settled distrust, and irreconcilable
enmity to this nation."

He then proceeded to a lengthened detail of the instances. They
are at length summarily dismissed as follows: — "In Bengal, Seraja
Dowlah was sold to Mir Jaffier; Mir Jaffier was sold to Mir Cossim;
and Mir Cossim was sold to Mir Jaffier again. The succession was
sold to his eldest son. Another son of Mir Jaffier, Mobareeh al
Dowlah was sold to his stepmother. The Mahratta empire was sold
to Ragoba, and Ragoba was sold and delivered to the peishwa of the
Mahrattas. Both Ragoba and the peishwa of the Mahrattas were
offered for sale to the rajah of Berar. Scindia, the chief of Malva,
was offered to sale to the same rajah ; and the soubah of the Deccan
was sold to the great trader Mahomet All, nabob of Arcot. To the
same nabob of Arcot they sold Hyder Ali and the kingdom of Mysore.
To Mahomet Ali they twice sold the kingdom of Tanjore. To the
same Mahomet Ali they sold at least twelve sovereign princes called
the Poligars. But, to keep things even, the territory of Tinnevelly
they would have sold to the Dutch; and, to conclude their account of
sales, their great customer, the nabob of Arcot himself, and his lawful

310 POLITICAL SERIES. [ FIFTH

succession, has been sold to his second son, Amir al Omrah, whose
character, views, and conduct, are in the accounts on your table. It
remains with you whether they shall finally perfect this last bargain."

In proving his charge of breach of treaties, he makes a statement
which ought not to be passed, as it contains not only some evidence
of these charges, but, indeed, the main justification also of the abuses
which they criminate. " The governor-general has even amused him-
self and the court of directors, in a very singular letter to that board,
in which he admits that he had not been very delicate with regard to
the public faith ; and he goes so far as to state a regular estimate of
the sums the Company would have lost, or never acquired, if the rigid
ideas of public faith entertained by his colleagues had been observed."
The conclusion of this speech was directly pointed at Mr Hastings,
whose conduct he painted in such colours as nothing but a strong and
lively indignation could originate.

The following passages were perhaps but the direct preliminary to
subsequent proceedings. " But observe, Sir," he exclaims, " the spirit
of this man, which if it were not made manifest by a thousand things,
and particularly by his proceedings with respect to lord Macartney,
would be sufficiently manifested by this, — What sort of article, think
you, does he require this essential head of a solemn treaty of general
pacification to be? In his instructions to Mr Anderson he desires
him to admit ' a vague article' in favour of Hyder. JEvasion and fraud
were the declared basis of the treaty. These ' vague articles,' intended
for a more vague performance, are the things which have damned our
reputation in India." After several statements sprinkled with lan-
guage in a similar spirit, he proceeds in his pointed and graphic style
to give a general description of the policy of the Company in their
dealings with the native princes. " The invariable course of the
Company's policy is this: — Either they set up some prince too odious
to maintain himself without the necessity of their assistance, or they
soon render him odious by making him the instrument of their govern-
ment. In that case, troops are bountifully sent to him to maintain his
authority. That he should have no want of assistance, a civil gentle-
man, called a resident, is kept at his court, who, under pretence of
providing duly for the pay of these troops, gets assignments on the
revenue into his hands. Under his provident management debts soon,
accumulate; new assignments are made for these debts; until, step by
step, the whole revenue, and with it the whole power of the country,
is delivered into his hands. The military do not behold without a
virtuous emulation, the moderate gains of the civil department. They
feel that, in a country driven to habitual rebellion by the civil govern-
ment, the military is necessary; and they will not permit their ser-
vices to go unrewarded. Tracts of country are delivered over to
their discretion. Then it is found proper to convert their officers
into farmers of revenue. Thus, between the well-paid civil, and well-
rewarded military establishments, the situation of the natives may be
easily conjectured. The authority of the regular and lawful govern-
ment is everywhere and in every point extinguished. Disorders and
violences arise; they are repressed by other disorders and other
violences. Wherever the collectors of the revenue, and the farming1

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 311

colonels and majors move, ruin is about them, rebellion before and
behind them. The people in crowds fly out of the country; and the
frontier is guarded by lines of troops, not to exclude an enemy, but to
prevent the escape of the inhabitants." After stating the consequent
reduction of the revenues, he goes on, — " To complete the business,
most of the wretched remnants of this revenue are mortgaged, and
delivered into the hands of the usurers at Benares," &c. * * *
" The revenues, in this manner, failing, they seized upon the estates
of every person of eminence in the country, and, under the name of
resumption, confiscated their property."

Towards the conclusion of this speech, Mr Burke brings forward in
detail several of the same specific charges which became subsequently
the matter of his articles of impeachment. To this we must now ad-
vert more distinctly. But we have drawn thus largely on this cele-
brated speech, as affording the most unequivocal view of Mr Burke's
own opinions, as well as in some measure completing the details
essential to the just appreciation of his entire conduct upon Indian
politics, and in the prosecution of Mr Hastings. There are, consider-
ing the special purpose of this memoir, two important points to be set
right, — the manifest and generally admitted policy of the proposed
bill; and the reiterated accusation against Mr Burke of having been
actuated by a malignant spirit. Neither of these will now demand
much detail.

To Mr Pitt's objection, that this bill was a violation of chartered
rights, we have left Mr Burke to defend himself: he has answered the
objection, and we think fully and satisfactorily. But it has been
observed, and we must allow truly, that it violated the principles of
the constitution. It must have enabled Mr Fox to institute a com-
mission, independent of the crown and parliament, with powers so
enormous, as to enable them to attain to an irresponsible influence
above either. This commission, to be composed of the personal
friends and mere creatures of Mr Fox; persons not in any other way
qualified for the wide and complicated duties which he would have
trusted to them, and entirely subject to his counsel and guidance,
and devoted to the promotion of his aims; would have soon placed
Mr Fox on the summit of his daring and unprincipled ambition, and
made him the master of England as well as India. But it i« easy
to conceive the enthusiastic and impassioned energy of Mr Burke,
fired by the deep apprehension of the atrocious and wide-wasting
iniquities which we have endeavoured to set before the reader
as they were impressed on his mind. His head and heart were
filled with vast and splendid conceptions of India; its ancient history
had fired his imagination; the truly dreadful wrongs sustained by
its princes and people worked on his pity, which was perhaps
the master-passion of his breast. To this great subject others
were sordid and poor. He looked to the direct objects of the
commission, and only saw that independence is one of the safeguards of
integrity: the objection escaped his notice. His real infirmity oper-
ated to conceal it — too much confidence in the integrity of others was
his blind side. He trusted in the political honesty of Mr Fox: he
did riot yet see his motives, though they were clearly discernible to

312 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

many inferior men. The exclusive direction of his thoughts is well
illustrated by his indignant rebuke to the previous speakers in the
debate. At the outset of his speech, he solemnly tells them " we are
on a conspicuous stage, and the world marks our demeanour;" he is
therefore " pained " by the petty spirit in which they have entered on
the subject, as if it were a question of "private property, or about a
corporate franchise ;" and reproaches them with " the total silence of
these gentlemen concerning the interest and well-being of the people
of India," &c. This was in his breast the ascendant passion of the
hour; from it his eloquence is wholly drawn.

As to any personal feeling towards Mr Hastings, there is no ground
for its assumption, either in fact or in the character of Mr Burke.
The absence of any such is plainly shown by the attempt to prove it. It
has been attributed to the idleged fact that Mr Hastings was deficient
in attention to his friend Mr William Burke in India. The notion is
ridiculous; and only illustrates the flippancy of petty spite, in the asser-
tion of such a motive for such actions. Mr Burke, though capable
of being elevated beyond the bounds of temper in the assertion of the
vast interests to which his mind was devoted, was remarkable for the
generosity of his private and personal impulses. He might, we grant,
be excited to a degree of animosity which we do not mean to justify;
but it was free from the sordid malignity which belongs to narrow
selfishness and contracted understandings. His conduct not only does
not require, but does not admit of such imputations. It is enough that
lie believed all his charges against Mr Hastings; they are not now so
easily disproved ; and they were such that no punishment could equal,
no indignation capable of human conception approach. But the large
class of men, whose conduct and sentiments mostly indicate the undue
exaltation of narrow interests, are as remarkable for their incompetency
to the conception of those broader views which concern mankind,
when they are not in some way rendered palpable by the connecting
bond of private interests. That any public man should seriously take
to heart the wrongs of the other side of the globe — of a people whose
language, customs, and moral constitution were so widely different
from their own — was not to be conceived. It stood on a level with re-
ligion, which so many think out of place beyond the church door, and are
ready to sweep away from the common daylight of slight and transi-
tory concerns. It is enough that Mr Burke's understanding was one
that could pervade the entire compass of human realities with the
same vital sympathy as the clergyman can devote to the good of his
parish. He believed in as fearful a mass of wrongs and suffering as
the records of time contain. The zeal arid pertinacity of his con-
duct were entirely consistent with his sense of duty.

The first attack on Mr Hastings grew -directly out of the general
statement already noticed, and in part repeated above. There was at
the time no further object than the measures of redress, in support of
which he spoke: these were his reasons for the proposed bill. But
he had been long and intensely engaged on India affairs; and, so
whole was his devotion to the subject, that he withdrew his thoughts
from all beside. In 1780, and 1781, two committees were appointed
on India affairs; of these, one was a secret committee: it was confined

PERIOD] EDMUND BUIIKE. 313

to no party, and consisted, therefore, of both sides of the house. Its
object was to investigate the conduct of the judges. Of this, Mr
Burke was the most laborious member. There was brought under
its attention a considerable body of most flagrant wrongs. On bring-
ing in a strong and decisive report in affirmation of these, the com-
mittee was directed to continue its labours on a more comprehensive
range of inquiry; and its instructions involved the subject of the ad-
ministration of India affairs in every conceivable aspect. The conse-
quence was, that the next report implicated the conduct of Mr Hast-
ings himself, and this with full consent and privity of some who after-
wards were foremost in espousing his cause. Mr Dundas was chair-
man of the committee, and brought up the report. This report con-
cluded with a statement that " Warren Hastings, Esq., governor-
general in Bengal, and William Hornby, Esq., president of the council
at Bombay, having, in sundry instances, acted in a manner repugnant
to the honour and policy of this nation, and thereby brought great
calamities on India, and enormous expenses on the East India Com-
pany: it is the duty of the directors of the same company to pursue
all legal and effectual means for the removal of the said governor-
general and president from their said offices, and to recall them to
Great Britain."

Such was the actual commencement of the series of incidents out of
which the prosecution of Mr Hastings arose, as a very natural conse-
quence. It may serve to satisfy the mind, that there must have been
ample motive and ground for it, altogether independent of the neces-
sity of finding forced and tortuous reasons in the assumption of senti-
ments which have no probability either in the person to whom they
have been imputed, or in any previous incidental causes. As we have
already admitted, it is by no means unlikely that Mr Burke was strongly
affected by such excitements, but they were effects not causes. It is
impossible for a mind endowed with keen passions and strong zeal, to
take up some great cause replete with the elements of wrath, and from
a sense of duty, and, however reluctantly, to act the part of hostility,
without catching some portion of its fire. This must be admitted to
be an infirmity; but it is the common infirmity of our nature. Op-
position, often both unfair, acrimonious, and provoking, will fan the
flame of zeal into passion — defiance will provoke hostility; and no
one, alive to humanity, can read the statements from which we have
borrowed some slight extracts, without strongly feeling that they
call for indignation. If the tenth part of the imputed crimes of the
impeachment have any reality, it would be hard to say what is to
be resented or detested, beyond the little pale of selfish resentment, if
they are not. We do not wish to sit in judgment on one whom the
law has acquitted — it is enough that such charges were not only
believed by Mr Burke, but by the deliberate judgment affirmed,
[founded on a long, patient, and thorough investigation,] of the House
of Commons; nor does it in any way appear on the other hand, that the
high court of parliament in which the subsequent impeachment was car-
ried on, came to its contrary decision on any full or competent view of
the actual merits of the case. There are crimes sanctioned by custom
and unprovided against by human laws. And there were in that case

314 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

so large interests involved, as to justify such proceedings as those of
Mr Hastings in the eye of the world. These grounds we have already
stated; we think that they afford sufficient explanation of the event
of the impeachment. We think it just to add, that we by no means
go so far as to censure the eventual judgment of parliament. It is
hard to convert sanctioned wrongs into delinquency before the bar of
human justice. Unquestionably some measures of redress and regu-
lation should precede such crimination. But there was in the alleged
conduct of Mr Hastings so very large a departure from all justice,
integrity, and humanity, that, if an exception be allowed, it must be
in his case.

Mr Burke, strongly possessed with the same sentiments of indigna-
tion, honour, and pity, which so strongly pervade all the statements
which he had made on the subject of India, and which the matter of
those statements could not fail to impress, pledged himself to impeach
Mr Hastings so soon as he should return from India. On the return
of Mr Hastings, he was reminded in the house of this pledge, and de-
fied to proceed by the friends, and at the desire of Mr Hastings. Mr
Hastings was actuated by no consciousness of wrong; early inured to
Indian policy, it was in his mind quite consistent with the notions of
duty on which he had erroneously, but not, perhaps, with any criminal
intent, acted for the benefit of his employers. For all his acts, he was
armed with the plea of an established expediency, and of political ne-
cessity. He had been publicly thanked and rewarded by the company
for the very deeds for which he was now to be called to account.
The world was also on his side: his principles of action were those of
councils and cabinets. The British empire in India he deemed should
not be sacrificed to considerations of mere humanity to the half
savages of Hindostan. Thus was each party strong in the sense of
right — the one burning to vindicate the laws of society, the principles
of justice and mercy, and to redress the wrongs of a large division of
the human race; the other to whose habits such notions were alto-
gether foreign, felt himself on the sure ground of his duties — his
great services to the empire, and the practical impressions of man-
kind.

Thus, it will be understood, that the charges against Mr Hastings
did not originate with Mr Burke, but were founded on the well-con-
sidered and deliberate report of a most competent committee appointed
in the House of Commons: — that the acts were such as to call for
the charges ; that Mr Burke was of a character to be strongly alive to
the tortuous character of such acts: the menace of impeachment was
the natural consequence: to this impeachment he was defied. The rest of
the train will seem equally the clear result of a controlling succession of
incidents; and, on Mr Burke's part, not to be avoided. The following
extract is Mr Burke's own reply to the unwarrantable charge of malice.
We give it from an imperfect report: — "He disclaimed every feeling
of personal pique or aversion. Mr Hastings had never injured or
offended him. He possessed many qualities, of which he was as ready
as any man to avow his admiration. He entered on the select
committee with such a manifest partiality for this man, that the
friends of Sir Elijah Impey often upbraided him for the prejudice

EDMUND BURKE. 315

which they thought he entertained in his favour. He had been, like
many of his betters, dazzled with the constant panegyrics which at-
tended the mention of his name. But the huge volumes of evidence
which came under his inspection effected a complete revolution in all
his ideas of this celebrated character. The inquiries, which he thought
it his duty to make, were laborious, and he soon foresaw would cer-
tainly subject him to a world of obloquy and invidious remark. He
persevered, however; and what was the result? He found that plun-
der, murder, and desolation had been systematically pursued — that the
policy of India aimed only at rapacity — that no means, however foul
and atrocious, which could facilitate this end were omitted — and that
the perpetrators of all these enormities, instead of being called to an
account for their actions, were supported, protected, and cherished by
those whose duty it was to prosecute and punish them. He could not,
therefore, but look upon Mr Hastings as the scourge of India. It was
his duty, and the duty of every man who thought and felt as he did,
to deliver, if possible, any part of God's creation from such a scourge.
His efforts he found were much too weak, though as strong as he could
make them.

Five years had been spent by Mr Burke in deep and laborious in-
vestigations, and in "brooding over" the wrongs of India; when, in
1786, he brought forward the subject explicitly, in a motion for in-
quiry, on February 1 7th in this year. Having been formally called
upon by major Scott to produce his charges in a parliamentary form,
Mr Burke commenced by calling the attention of the house to its own
resolutions upon the same subject in 1782. He then rose, and went
into a full and accurate sketch of the history of India from 1764;
having described the rapid growth of all the varied corruptions
and malpractices already noticed in our previous pages, he mentioned
the formation of the parliamentary committees, which had after the
fullest investigation, come to the decision recorded in their journals,
and then read to the house. From these had arisen an immense
and well-digested body of evidence ; and on these he said, that he
would rest his accusation of Mr Hastings. Thus, then, was the
accusation as fully sustained by all that such an accusation injustice
demands, of clear, well scrutinized and digested convictions upon com-
petent inquiry. It wanted only the authority of a court — but nothing
of intrinsic competency — to make the decision of those committees
as final and decisive as human judgments can be made. No court
could have been more competent. And though the defence of the
accused is essential to preserve the character of human justice, there
are occasions, and this was one, in which so far as the strict question
of guilt is concerned, the defence can be of no avail but to avert the
sentence. Mr Burke then entered into a discussion of the methods of
prosecution usual in such cases, and gave his reasons for preferring
the method of procedure by a bjll of impeachment. In order to give
the greater moderation to this course, he would, he said, commence
by moving for papers, and thus institute a searching inquiry ; after
which, when the matter of charge should appear fully and clearly suffi-
cient to warrant such a course, he would then move for the bill of
impeachment.

316 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

We have endeavoured to put our reader as briefly as our object
would admit, in possession of the preliminary circumstances of the im-
peachment of Mr Hastings. Were we to go as fully into the subse-
quent history of the proceedings, it would occupy far more space than
we can devote even to Mr Burke. But as we have, we trust, said
enough to place the motives of Mr Burke's conduct in their true light,
it will, for the rest, be enough to mention the remaining incidents as
they come in the order of time. We shall only now observe, that the
very detailed and circumstantial memoir written by Mr Prior, con-
tains numerous incidental facts and statements, which when put
together, leave no reasonable ground for doubt, as to the actuating
motives of Mr Burke throughout every part of the long and trying
public duty which he had undertaken, — the evidence to be now
derived from his private communications with his most intimate
friends ; the entire absence of any counterbalancing proofs of any
unmanly or malignant sentiment; the honourable and full admissions
of the ablest and worthiest of his opponents: the respect and honour
freely rendered to his person and character by all persons themselves
deserving of respect. These most unequivocal grounds of infer-
ence, leave no room for any but the most obstinate and wilful miscon-
struction of Mr Burke's conduct and actuating motives. Nor, what-
ever opinion might be formed of Mr Hastings, can the long investi-
gation allow us to admit that there was not full ground for investi-
gation : it is only by very vague insinuations, or by very bold and
comprehensive misstatements, that the force can be evaded of those
statements which decided the conduct of the House of Commons, and
kept the impeachment alive for so many years. Mr Prior tells us
that Mr Pitt repeatedly admitted, that the inquiry was " conducted by
the right honourable gentleman with every degree of fairness, open-
ness, and candour, of which it was susceptible." He also quotes Mr
Mill, the historian of British India, to explain the real causes in which
the unpopularity of the trial originated.

The same writer gives some general and just reasons for the odium
which began to be cast upon the managers towards the conclusion of
the trial. " The favour with which the cause of Mr Hastings was known
to be viewed in the highest family in the kingdom, could not be with-
out a powerful effect on a powerful class. The frequency with which
decisions and speeches favourable to him were made in the House of
Lords — the defence which he received from the great body of the
lawyers — the conversation of a multitude of gentlemen from India,
who mixed with every part of society — the uncommon industry and
skill with which a great number of persons, who openly professed
themselves the friends or agents of Mr Hastings, worked through the
press, and other channels, upon the public mind ; and not least, the
disfavour which is borne to the exposure of the offences of men in
high situations in the bosom of that powerful class of society which
furnishes the men by whom these situations are commonly filled; all
these circumstances, united to others which are less known, succeeded
at last in making it a kind of fashion to take part with Mr Hastings,
and to rail against his accusers."*

* Mill's Historv of British India.

PF.RIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 317

We cannot omit the following remarks. " He [Mr Fox] frequently
stated that no man but his right honourable friend, could have accom-
plished the more than Herculean task of the investigation itself, or
surmounted the incessant and vexatious difficulties at every step thrown
in his way." These difficulties during the trial before the House of
Lords were of an extraordinary nature, scarcely a point of evidence
being admitted against the prisoner without vexatious quibbles and
cavils, discussions and adjournments : and as every one who has atten-
tively perused the history of these proceedings must be aware, it was
ultimately by having recourse to the palpable and grossest resources
of legal chicanery — such coarse tampering with the forms of law, as
would not have been sanctioned in any of the regular law courts, that
an acquittal was at last obtained. In a word, every art of injustice
was employed in behalf of the accused, and every vexatious obstacle
opposed to the prosecutors. No reader, perhaps, but a lawyer, will be
satisfied with the course of the trial. Few conscientious men will be
pleased with the result of it, or the means uniformly resorted to, to
evade inquiry into the merits of the transactions themselves, which in
the eye of morality, will leave Mr Hastings, if not a guilty man, at
least a suspected one; for in the general opinion, as well as in that of
an acute historian, (Mr Mill), " if his accusers did not prove his guilt,
he himself did not prove his innocence." On this we may remark,
that according to these statements, the decided opinion here stated as
that of Mr Mill, might be still more decidedly put. Had his accusers
simply failed to prove his guilt, he was under no necessity to prove
his innocence ; but his accusers were not permitted to prove his guilt
— and he, with the amplest allowance, favour and opportunity, failed
to rebut their charges.

This trial formally commenced on the 25th of January, ] 787, and
charges were successively brought forward and stated from that date
to the 9th of May. Mr Pitt, then at the head of the government, had
first begun by resistance ; but soon convinced by the weight of the facts,
he found himself compelled to take the opposite course; and in fine,
he became an assenting party to most of the charges. On the 10th
of May, Mr Burke accused Mr Hastings in the name of the Commons,
at the bar of the House of Lords.

On the 13th of February, 1788, the proceedings in Westminster
Hall commenced with great form. Mr Burke, as the manager, led the
procession thither, of the Commons, law officers, Lords, and Royal
family. Two days were spent in reading the articles of impeachment,
and the answers of Mr Hastings. On the third, Mr Burke opened
the case to a crowded house. For four days, he continued a state-
ment of unparalleled power and effect: whether from the force of repre-
sentation and reason — the command of the subject — the novel aspect
in which he presented questions already so trite and beaten, or the pro-
found interest of the facts themselves, never perhaps was so large and
respectable an auditory so bound by the commanding mastery of an
orator. Some indeed of the statements which he made, on the 1 8th of
February, were of a nature to convulse the feelings of the house with
horror. Mr Burke was compelled by his own emotion to pause, and
drop his head upon his hands, and remain for some moments unable to

318 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

articulate — nor did he proceed many minutes after, before he was seized
with a violent cramp in the stomach, when the proceedings were in con-
sequence adjourned till the next day. It was on this occasion that Mrs
Siddons and some other ladies fainted, at the horrible narrations of
the orator. On the 19th, he closed his statement with a solemn and
impressive description of the cause, the accusers, and the court; and
ended by charging Mr Hastings with abuse of public trust — with dis-
honouring the character of England — of subverting the laws, rights,
and liberties of India — of destroying the properties of the inhabitants
— desolating their country — and of enormous cruelties and tyrannies
inflicted on persons of every rank and sex. On the 21st of April, the
business of the trial was, after some adjournments, resumed ; and Mr
Burke brought forward his first separate charge, which was that of
bribery ; from which this trial went on with great interruptions, through
several years. A distinct statement of the several charges would con-
vey little to the reader, without much detail for which we have not room
in this necessarily restricted memoir. We have nevertheless endeav-
oured to include in the foregoing select statements, the general
merits of the whole question. As we have been enabled to estimate
it from the comparison of several historians, biographers, and contem-
porary papers; and as we should argue them in detail, the view we
have endeavoured to communicate may be summed in a few words.
We consider that Mr Hastings is liable to the general charge of an
unprincipled and tortuous policy, and acquit him of criminal motives.
We believe, upon a perusal of the opposite statements on either side,
that most corrupt and unconstitutional means were adopted to screen
him from the consequences of the impeachment; and we also consider
that many were biassed in his favour, by a sense of the hardship of his
being rendered criminal for a system of efficient and apparently indis-
pensable policy, pursued according to the dictates of judgment, and of
a sense of duty. The common feeling of the world undoubtedly
places expediency above right. A juster sense is revolted by the
apparent creation of new crimes, and by an undefined criminal
equity. But it is indeed evident that there must be cases of the
abuse of great and peculiar powers, which cannot be anticipated by
legislation ; and that there must be limits to conventional abuses. It
is perhaps for such cases that the highest court in the realm, and the
trial by impeachment should be the remedy. Here, if anywhere, should
be supposed to reside an equity more comprehensive and elementary
than the special pleadings and narrow precedents of chancery courts.
And the most remarkable aspect of the subject is, the fatal proof which
it affords of the utter inefficiency of such a jurisdiction. Without
assuming the guilt of Mr Hastings, it Avould be an easy task to prove
that he was not acquitted upon the merits of the case.

During the continuance of this procedure, Mr Burke found time
to take a very distinguished part in many public questions. On some
of those occasions, he obtained from contemporary writers his usual
meed of distinguished notice.

In 1786, he paid a visit to Ireland in company with his son: it was
the last time he visited his friends in Balitore, who received him with
deep and affectionate enthusiasm. At this time his visit to Ireland

PERIOD.] EDMUND BUKKE, 319

excited a very general sensation, and was variously celebrated in prose
and verse.

In the following year be was elected a member of the Royal Irish
Academy, thus adding his name to a roll now enriched with the highest
names which adorn the records of science and literature. It was in
the same year that he was celebrated in an eloquent tribute by Dr
Parr in his preface to Bellendenus. Parr was among his most zealous
admirers, until the part taken by Mr Burke, respecting France, ali-
enated his regard.

The Regency question, which occurred in 1788, occupied Mr
Burke's attention for several months. The illness and subsequent
absence of Mr Fox threw the principal conduct of the opposition
on him. We only advert to so well-known an incident to men-
tion one circumstance connected with Mr Burke. Little in habits of
intimacy with the heir-apparent, whose amusements and associates
were not generally such at that time as to have much attraction for
him, his active and industrious energy, as leading advocate in the
prince's case, did not lessen the interval that separated him from the
circle of Carlton house. But an exigency arose that brought his
talent and judgment into request, in such a manner as to indicate
strongly the sense entertained of him among the best judges of those
qualities which the occasion called for. Mr Pitt, in December, 1781,
addressed a letter to the prince on the subject of his claim to the
regency. It was a letter in a high degree vexatious to the prince's
feelings, and such as to cause much anxiety and embarrassment as to
the reply proper to be sent. It was plain to the prince, and all his
more immediate advisers, that a suitable reply must demand an un-
usual degree of address, discretion, and tact. Much caution would be
required to avoid committing the prince before the public, and it was
a nice and delicate consideration to keep clear of dangerous allusions,
and maintain a due degree of that frankness which the dignity of the
prince's station should be supposed to dictate. As Mr Prior informs
us, the party at once cast their eyes on Mr Burke. The letter he
wrote on the occasion has obtained celebrity as a model of such com-
positions. It fully satisfied the prince and his advisers, whose pro-
bable motives for the selection are thus stated by Mr Prior: — "In
his hands it would be sure to acquire the requisite vigour, infor-
mation, and address, necessary for the occasion ; the heat which occa-
sionally attended him in debate was known to be almost wholly
discarded from his compositions in the closet." This letter is given
by Mr Prior, and several other writers, but it is too long for our
insertion.

But we must here omit all notice of the numerous minor incidents
of the day, to come to the last great division of Mr Burke's public
history. It is not by events of local or partial interest, or of a transi-
tory effect on the destinies of England, or perhaps in the records of
the human race, that the fame of Mr Burke ought to be weighed.
The history of the American war, of the trial of Mr Hastings, which
was the first stone of a future world in the East, are comparatively
small and local. Nor should we have loitered to dwell upon them at
a length incommensurate with their present interest, but for the mix-

320 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ture of shallow error and party slander which pursued Mr Burke's
conduct through these and subsequent events, for the purpose of
charging him with political inconsistency. This is a charge commonly
pursued beyond the limit of common sense; but, with regard to Mr
Burke, it is altogether without foundation. The consideration is
indeed most especially worth the intelligent reader's best attention ;
it casts a broad light upon the pernicious conventions of party feel-
ing in every age. There is nothing which more clearly illustrates
the want of sound and extensive comprehension of great public ques-
tions, than the common habit of estimating or governing the conduct
and opinions by party. It is quite unnecessary for us to digress
upon the real advantages of party as aa important means to an
important end. But men in this, as in all other things, lose sight
of the end in the means; even their best wisdom is too commonly
propped by prejudice. Thus it is that, principles being lost sight
of, the essential distinctions of questions are confounded, and they
are classed by their accidents. Unquestionably, if distinctions founded
on principle may be excluded and party conventions assumed as rules
of reason, then, in all possible collisions between the government and
the governed, one side should be adopted, as consistent, without any
respect to the nature of the questions involved; if an insurrection for
Simnel or Warbeck is to be justified (for this too would follow), by
the same arguments as the Revolution of 1688 : it must be freely ad-
mitted that every statesman who would maintain the just rights of a
nation, must with the same zeal support the most wild extreme of
popular crime and frenzy. The admission, and it is too often involved
in party language, wholly eliminates all questions as to distinction, all
resorts to principle. If however, the opposite maxims be adopted, and
it be once allowed that in the award of opinion the case is to be con-
sidered in itself; if it be allowed that a statesman is to look to right,
justice, and sound expediency, and preserve his principles even
amid the shifting quicksands of a changing party, we must arrive at a
very different position, and view the conduct of the statesman in a very
opposite aspect. Some years since, there were in existence in some
parts of Ireland, certain petty courts of feudal origin, in which suits
were generally preferred by a very low class of persons for small
charges or claims; whenever any reputable person chanced unhappily
to be concerned in these courts, it was mostly as defendant. The case
was tried by a jury composed of those who were the customary plain-
tiffs; when it came on, it wa^ no unusual incident to see the plaintiff
start from the einpannelled twelve, and come forward with his charge;
but under all circumstances, the judgment of the bench (no King's
bench but a plain side-stool of office), and the verdict of the jury were
overawed by a ferocious crowd, as well as swayed aside by the petty
interests which were understood to prevail. Judgment was uniformly
given for the plaintiff, unless he chanced to be a respectable person,
and an extern to the court. The legal practitioners of these miserable
dens of iniquity were in the habit of defending their perverted prac-
tice against the frequent charges of perversion, by saying that these
were " the people's courts.'' This is precisely identical with the con-
sistency of Mr Burke's accusers. The spirit of the popular men of

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 321

every generation with which history has yet made us acquainted, has
not been a liberal zeal for right, equal law, constitutional freedom;
but, losing sight of these great fundamental elements, they have most
commonly in all their language and proceedings, strongly manifested,
and often directly professed the plain simple deference to popular will
as their primary principle. This is evidently in part a consequence of
the natural illusion arising from habit — from the common error of in-
ferring the principle of conduct from the conduct itself instead of the
opposite and right course ; thus from the mere ignorance of most party
men, the spirit of the party falls into the place of principles. It must
indeed be admitted that in this fallacy there is also no small mixture
of worldly craft ; for undoubtedly the conciliation of popularity is a
vast element of party or personal influence. These reflections are
made with a view to point out, as distinctly as we can, that which we
consider as the true cause of the charge against Mr Burke's consistency
at this period of his life on which we are now to enter. His oppon-
ents have, unconsciously, advanced charges, which imply the principle
of their own conduct or opinions, to be mere simple adhesion to
popular opinion. If the people were to change in a few years to
the most contrary wishes, the statesman who can trim his courses
accordingly, will seldom be charged either with inconsistency; nor
will it be thought necessary to find tortuous motives for his real
change. But the actual cases with which we have to deal are better
marked and offer the best illustrations. The changes of spirit in Mr
Burke's party are well marked; it is easy to vindicate the Rocking-
ham party on the principles of the constitution — the party of Mr Fox
cannot have the advantage of such a vindication. It would be no
difficult task to vindicate the revolution of the North American states,
on the common principles of national rights ; the French Revolution
admits of no such defence. But, however it may be defended, the
cases are not similar ; they offer widely different questions, to be refer-
red to different principles. Their common element of popularity is
in no way involved in these questions.

The first incidents of the French Revolution were well- adapted to
impose on the profoundest human understanding. And even while its
advance was accompanied by indications less equivocal, still there was
much to conceal tendencies, not then so fully understood as they sub-
sequently were, when seen by the light of events. The stern and
unequal pressure of an ancient feudal monarchy, which had long sur-
vived the times to which it was appropriate, and the degree of social
advance which produced and required it, was no longer commensurate
with the enlarged system of knowledge, trade^ and human civilization,
which had grown up in France. A large and respectable middle
class had come into being, with no suitable rights or place in the
scale of order. The peasantry had followed the onward wave ; and,
universally, there was an advanced maturity of the public mind and
spirit, which demanded, and must, sooner or later, by some means,
have obtained large and suitable relaxations of the old system. This
was felt by all who were acquainted with even the lowest rudiments
of national polity. Every wise and good man in the surrounding states
could not fail to look with interest on any signs of such important

VOL. v. x

322 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ameliorations. In France, itself, this was not so decidedly the feeling1
among the higher orders, from the common reluctance to part with
privileges, or approximate ranks — a sentiment powerfully affecting
man's nature. The mere possession of such badges of social pre-emin-
ence, tends, indeed, to fill the rnind with prejudices unfavourable to
improvement. It is also a task of superhuman power, to dissolve and
recompose a state of things j and, in France, the grievances of the
people were diffusively involved in the entire system of their laws and
customs. A vicious constitution was maintained by the deep and
solid ramparts and buttresses of antiquity. In this condition of things,
we would say, that the demand for improvement was generally felt:
while the law of social progress, the essential means to be employed,
and the urgent and vital necessity for caution (not even now clearly
comprehended) was totally unknown.

Consequently, at the first appearance of changes which appeared to
tend to good, there was a strong sympathy awakened in England, in
which Mr Burke participated. Let us see what were the facts which
were present to his observation. First, the grinding and oppressive
powers of the monarchy were practically alleviated by a most virtuous
and enlightened monarch, who loved and deserved the love of his
people ; and it was a consequence that the ameliorations first appeared
to come from the only quarter from which beneficial changes can come,
consistently with order and safety. There were, it is true, other
moving causes at work; such as to alter the whole process of improve-
ment, and to turn into a rapid disease the slaw workings of constitu-
tional growth. But of these, nearly all were as yet separate and
independent incidents and workings, quite unconnected with the great
movement into which they were presently to coalesce and precipitate.
To the apprehension of Mr Burke, there appeared an enlightened king,
aided by wise, liberal, and provident counsellors, working for the good
of a great nation, and more disposed to concede liberties, and suppress
odious encroachments, than any of their predecessors. The king's readi-
ness to yield, exaggerated by remoteness, seemed to offer the most fitting
occasion for reforms, not otherwise to be attained but with danger ;
and the first movements of a revolutionary character were more viewed
as a pressure sufficient to overcome the obstacles arising from an es-
tablished regime. The financial embarrassments which were to give
the immediate impulse to the long concentrating elements of civil ruin
were but little known in England. And the fatal influence of an in-
sane philosophyr of which it was the tendency to unhumanize the
heart — to break down all restraints, and exalt all vices, was not yet
seen in connexion with events. It was not then understood how a
radical demoralization was to unfit the French people to hold the
liberty which seemed just within their grasp, and to give a fiendlike
complexion and form to that strange people — marking every onward
step with a wilder and more abandoned frenzy till a deadlier slavery
than was till then known to history, became the only remedy for their
utter disorganization. It was only in its progress that such a wild
anomaly could be appreciated. The revolutions of England moder-
ated by the real virtue, the sobriety, the constitutional sense, and
above all, the Christian character of Great Britain, were the actual

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 323

precedents in the minds of Englishmen, they looked to the whigs of
1688, and did not see how widely distinct in spirit and character were
the actors.

It was thus that Mr Burke, making1 the seemingly just allowance
for professed intentions, for the actual tendencies of events, and not
aware of the yet concealed conditions of the great problem then to be
practically solved, went no further at first than others, the wisest of
his party, in discerning what was to follow. It is, indeed, an inconsid-
erate mistake, to set him down as simply the opponent of the French
Revolution : it was the principles by which it was conducted, and the
atrocities in which it was quickly merged that elicited his indigna-
tion and roused his chivalric humanity. These were the first objects
of his active and effective denunciations — the most honourable of his
illustrious acts, which turned off the fell infection from England, for
at least his own and the following generation.

Against the actual spirit of the French Revolution, (the dispositions
by which — however originated — it was really characterized and modi-
fied towards its end,) Mr Burke had early expressed his strong protest:
but for a considerable interval after the first manifestation of these dis-
positions, they had not yet taken a political form ; nor were they, in prin-
ciple, involved in any of the great public questions by which his mind
was engrossed. And so it happened, that the expressions of his opinion
were confined to private intercourse, and the Jess direct allusions of
casual observation. From his first visits to France, he noticed the un-
principled philosophy, and the moral contamination which were rapidly
diffusing themselves through every circle: his remarks, which were
of course but casual, we have already taken due care to notice in their
order. At the actual period of this narrative, Mr Burke, in common
with Mr Fox, Pitt, Wilberforce, and most wise men of his time, looked
with satisfaction and sympathy on movements of progress which, ab-
stractedly considered, were truly to be desired. It yet only appeared
that despotism was relaxing its grasp, and that abject slavishness of
spirit was changing its character, and lifting its head from voluntary
prostration : it seemed, too, to be eminently the undertaking of rational
and philanthropic wisdom, countenanced by authority, and conducted
by legal means. The intrinsic and entire absence of all the vital prin-
ciples of social order had not been yet indicated by outward signs : the
scheming demagogue, the licentious depredator, and the abandoned in-
fidel, had as yet availed themselves but of the ordinary pretexts of recog-
nised good and evil, which they are mostly compelled to use for the
purpose of drawing in the common sense of the crowd. But Mr Burke
was not long in the obscurity which held other statesmen: he quickly
began to see consequences. The following passage from a letter to lord
Charlemont, was written immediately after the first indication which
he could well have observed; and it is remarkable for the prophetic out-
line of following events, which it so distinctly conveys in a few words:
— " As to us here, our thoughts of everything at home are suspended
by our astonishment at the wonderful spectacle which is exhibited in
a neighbouring and rival country. What spectators, and what actors!
England gazing with astonishment on a French struggle for liberty,
and not knowing whether to blame or applaud.

324 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

" The thing, indeed — though I thought I saw something like it in
progress for several years — has still somewhat in it paradoxical and
mysterious. The spirit it is impossible not to admire; but the old
Parisian ferocity has broken out in a shocking manner. It is true,
that this may be no more than a sudden explosion; if so, no indication
can be taken from it; but if it should be character rather than accident,
then that people are not Jit for liberty, and must have a strong hand,
like that of their former masters, to coerce them." Assuredly these
few sentences disclose many things. They illustrate our foregoing
estimate of the small knowledge which then existed of the precise state
of things in France. But they also show that while others knew little
of the facts, and not more of the working of tendencies, which were
to give the turn to events, he directed his thoughts according to those
just and true grounds of judgment, which afterwards governed his
conduct, and in strict accordance, even to the letter, with events. His
opinion was yet conditional, but not the less rigidly just.

Considerably later than the period of the letter here quoted from,
when the Revolution had made great advances, and manifested with
no small distinctness the real tendency of its progress^ it is known
that still there was generally no just sense entertained in England of
its character and its actions. It was yet thought that the excesses of
every kind which had already disgraced every step of it, were but the
ebullition of natural enthusiasm, attendant on such a wonderful and
happy liberation from the crushing thraldom of centuries ; and that
when the wise counsels from which a sound polity was to proceed had
fully done their part, that the people and their agitators might be ex-
pected to subside into order. Mr Fox and his associates, most of
whom we must suppose to have been to a great extent sincere, had not
appreciated the rabid fever of the Celtic blood which flowed, and
flows, so purely in the veins of Gaul. Mr Burke's mind was evidently
possessed with a strong sense of the nature of that people. There is a
prepossession of the higher intelligence, which goes before the appre-
hensions of slow reasoning, and this appears to gleam through Mr
Burke's language, with a deep fulness which time has interpreted. He
was evidently hesitating toward right views, when all around him
were confident in the wrong. He exerted his usual industry as well
as his intelligence on the subject, and endeavoured to draw information
from numerous correspondents in France.

Towards the end of September, in 17S9> one of these correspon-
dents, M. de Menonville, a member of the National Assembly, wrote
to learn Mr Burke's opinion of French affairs, and received an answer
which leaves no doubt as to his views, or as to the course he would
himself take. He gives a forcible portraiture of the conduct of the
French, and says, " To men so degraded, a state of strong constraint
is a sort of necessary substitute for freedom; since, bad as it is, it may
deliver them in some measure from the worst of all slavery." He
then proceeds to describe his notion of true civil liberty. " You have
kindly said that you began to love freedom from your intercourse with
me. Permit me, then, to continue our conversation, and to tell you
what the freedom is which I love. It is not solitary, unconnected,
individual selfish liberty. It is social freedom. It is a state of things

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 325

in which no man or body of men is in a condition to trespass on the
liberty of any person, or any description of persons in society. This
kind of liberty is, indeed, but another name for justice ascertained by
wise laws, and secured by well-constructed institutions." This defini-
tion of the social state in its only complete form — combining all that
social institutions have for their object — demands well the careful
attention of the people and their advisers of every time: precisely
because it offers the true correction to the common prejudice which,
for reasons easy to apprehend, is ever liable to be renewed among the
ignorant, and fostered by the designing. It was the distinctive prin-
ciple of all Mr Burke's conduct — he was the ardent champion of liberty
in the sense thus denned, and the resolute opponent of the spurious,
because unregulated, freedom excluded by his definition and opposed
to true liberty. His comment has the merit also of closely describing
the real and essential process of all revolutions founded on popular
license ; and, while it describes the French Revolution, is of universal
application. Let us for a moment give expansion to so important a
statement.

We have but to conceive a populace as ignorant as the lower
orders of every nation have hitherto, with few exceptions, been, to
exist under any form of despotic and oppressive government. By
slow degrees, in the course of time, from whatever cause — for the
cause is here indifferent — either the patriot or the demagogue — for
this too does not concern the proposition to distinguish — com-
mences the work of reform and redress. The cry of liberty begins
as a word of course, and by degrees the popular mind takes fire.
It is at this point that our question begins. The popular notion of
liberty excludes refinement and theory — it has no science, and does
not look to consequences. It is simply that every man may do as he
pleases without any constraint. The absurdity is variously concealed:
it never occurs that this pleasure will not be according to certain
simple notions of fitness and right. Few people are without their
notions of right : with such all public courses of action begin ; they are
the natural beginnings of all self-delusion ; they are from beginning to
end the masks of all public imposture and crime. Great wrongs are
easily discovered — and the pretexts of public virtue demand small
ingenuity to find them ; the varnish of patriotism can be wanting to no
design ; but we may here assume the best intentions, for it is the in-
strument and the manner we have to consider. The demagogue may
be a patriot — the populace may be moved by well-grounded com-
plaints. But in the multitude are many elements, and all soon
mingle in the igniting mass of public passions. There is the simple,
fervent crowd, fired by an exaggerated sense of wrongs ; there are
the profligate, and the adventurous ; there are the ambitious and
the artful ; there is designing talent, and there is shallow and mis-
guided speculation. Flippant and superficial maxims, which sound
well to the vulgar ear, because they convey the vulgar sense, soon im-
body and give substance and unity to popular sentiment; and slowly
but surely the flame thus gathered, breaks into fierce combustion.
The populace thus enter with their passions into the cry ; and though
it maj even begin in right, it is likely to take a different course from

326 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

the host of bad and powerful spirits which popular enthusiasm thus
brings in.

So far the swell of the fiery tempest is to be traced. But another
process is at the same time, and by the same movements, obtaining a
retributive energy. Each individual, as he is ready to attribute the
best intentions to the crowd, and to imagine that (he knows not how)
all will be for the best, also is possessed with a sense of the invinci-
ble power of the multitude. He is not aware of the moral and intel-
lectual operations by which that power can be governed or paralyzed.
It never can occur to him that the aggregate of wills and passions can
have an operation different from the unit, by which the unit may
become the sport or the thrall. He cannot imagine how the mighty
mass of ardent passions and physical power can become the plaything
of the very leaders it has itself set up. He lends his whole force, and
all his passions, to the mighty pressure in which his powers of indi-
vidual motion are to be paralyzed, for every purpose but the will which
rules the mass itself. He is a slave, and perhaps a victim ; nor is
there any possibility of avoiding his fate. It cannot be otherwise ;
there is no instrumentality in the popular will or wisdom, for the in-
stitutions of order, justice, or civil liberty. They can be roused into
irresistible action by the excitement of passions which bring all the
vices of human nature in their train. But after the commission of
countless acts of insanity and wickedness, they are still bound by the
laws of nature — an iron necessity controls the fierce and fiery tide,
and slavery is the sure reaction of license.

Of all this, instances enough are to be found ; but the most perfect
and the least confused, with the interposition of modifying phenomena,
is the example of France. As Mr Burke has truly observed, this is
the only complete case of revolution which history offers. Happily, in
most instances, there are modifying circumstances or interposing causes,
which either moderate from the beginning, or interrupt and overrule
the course of this great social distemper. In most cases, the causes
of the morbid action have been deficient, or the preservative forces
— the vis medicatrijc — of the social state too strong; or as in some
of the lesser states, the external pressure too controlling. In France,
the yoke of feudal slavery had been contentedly borne by a people
vain enough to be proud even of their chains: the growth of civiliza-
tion had silently but effectually ameliorated and softened the condition
of every class, and a good king, against whom there is no charge but
want of timely resistance, was in all things advancing the work of
amelioration, to the utmost extent that the exigencies of the kingdom
at the time permitted. By no revolutionary change, the despotism
of Louis XIV. had in some way disappeared ; and there cannot be
a better illustration of this, than the fact which transpired on the
taking of the Bastile. This ancient prison, of which the very name
for ages had been a word of terror, not inferior to that of the Inqui-
sition, was then found to have become a common jail for debtors, and
for persons legally sentenced for real crimes. The whole number
amounted to seven. But Louis was placed under vast and insur-
mountable difficulties by the improvidence, the crimes, and the remiss-
ness of his predecessors; and a contest with his parliament, in which

PERIOD.] EDMUiSD BURKE. 327

much, could we afford space, might be said for and against both
parties, terminated in the excitement of the national passions. The
Deputies had recourse to representations of a popular nature, and the
people of Paris were roused into a dangerous sympathy. In France,
Paris is the seat of the national will, and the mind of the citizen
might be enough to consider. Unhappily the time was charged with a
spirit of intellectual revolt ; the frenzy of the rabid Parisian would
have subsided ; but more potent spirits were at work, and a systematic
agitation caught up, kept alive, and diffused the fiery impulse. Of this
we have already spoken, but somewhat more is required.

When popular movements are, from whatever cause, excited into
action, the extent, energy, and effectiveness of this action will alto-
gether depend on the number and character of the agitators.
Whether their discontent be serious or light, spurious or legitimate,
the mere populace moves but a little way, and quickly subsides. The
people may commit robberies on a larger scale, but insurrection in any
of its regular forms is something above them. Yet, on all occasions
of sufficient extent and magnitude, there is never wanting enough of
this essential element to render such excitements formidable. But in
France, a vast wave of intellect, powerful and overflowing as it was,
disordered and laden with elements of disaster, came rushing on the
age simultaneously with the disorders of the State. The causes
which we have already enumerated formed but the surface of the
commotion. In Paris, every circle, however obscure, was illuminated
by some portentous philosophy. Voltaire's wit and infidelity, Rous-
seau's theoretical and sentimental insanity, are but mere familiar
types of a thousand followers, rivals, and colleagues, hardly less bril-
liant, and nothing less effective in their spheres; their folly, madness,
atheism, had a favourable soil to spread in, the mixed levity and mor-
bid excitability of Paris became saturated with a licentious philosophy
of universal abnegation. The Economists, of whom the leading names
are justly the subject of permanent praise as the founders of political
economy, had naturally enough diffused a taste for their science
through every educated rank, and, however reputable in itself, it be-
came combined with every folly. The whole mass thus leavened
became one; and dreams of political regeneration, more false and
impracticable than ever poet dreamed, became the earnest working
speculation of educated and polished society. The confined and
partial method of reasoning which has been so lavished upon this
topic, renders it necessary to be careful in the statement of such
views. It is to be admitted that there was an abundant display of
specious maxims of truth and equity on the surface, and it was easy
for those, and they were many, who enlisted their tongues or pens on
the popular side, to dress their opinions in such a light as to impose
on the ignorant as they imposed on themselves. It is admitted that
there did exist a strong case for reform and redress ; it was easy to
find matter for sounder arguments than were employed. But neither
the proximate impulses nor the actual contest at all resembled the
equitable case. It was easy for those who would abolish social order
to declaim against tyranny, which, in point of fact, did not exist. It
was easy for the lawless to clamour against the inequalities of law.

328 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

We would not be understood to disallow any of the strong primary
claims which, looked on abstractedly, would seem to call for revo-
lution. But we must protest against the undiscerning and vague
language, offensive to reason, which overlooks the whole chain of actual
events, to moot abstract points which the writers uniformly misstate.
Those able men to whom the world is indebted for the first elements
of political economy, are to be exonerated from a direct concern in the
crimes and follies of the Revolution; but they were, it is to be ob-
served, enlightened themselves but partially, and in various degrees;
and they were but the nucleus to a vapoury train of political enthusiasts.
The praise of wisdom or prudence stops perhaps with Turgot. What-
ever wise men might have done, the R evolution was the handiwork of
madness, viee, and folly, after the first moving impulse given by the
parliament of Paris. In their usurping, infatuated, and mob-ridden
assemblies, from the Notables to the atrocious Jacobins and Corde-
liers, or the fell dictatorship of Robespierre, whatever truth was
spoken, or honesty shown, was the occasional protest of some sturdy
opponent, like Maury, whose adventurous eloquence reminds the reader
of Abdiel reproving the associate fiends.

The eulogists of the French Revolution in that day, and in the pre-
sent, are equally remarkable for a disregard of events. But they
were also, and are still, open to the far graver charge of the same
want of principle — the atheism directly involved in all their insane
visions of human perfectability — the perversion of science involved in
the notion that a whole social system can be annihilated and recon-
structed by any human power. Against such charlatanerie and fana-
ticism, the noble stand made by Mr Burke can hardly be viewed by
liberalist understandings as otherwise than a narrow bigotry. The
French Revolution, reduced to its facts and to its own actually pro-
fessed principles, will be found standing on a brief and simple negation
of all recognised principles and truths: — That there is no God — that
the will of the multitude is the source of right and law — that every
one has the right to act according to his own will. This simple
creed was faithfully adhered to, which, in its essential tendency, in-
cludes both the extremes of license and oppression.

In England, the same spirit was rapidly beginning to diffuse its
baleful exhalations. The reasonings of the modern philosophy had a
charm for the shallow, on whom it conferred newborn wisdom ; on the
profligate, whom it restored to the dignity of an easy virtue. If
atheism was wanting, deism had then an ample spread in England,
and answered all the same purpose: for, pure theism involves no prac-
tical principle, and is not a religion, but a philosophy, on the same
level with all the other metaphysical systems ever known ; that is to
say, entirely nugatory. Nor was deism merely prevalent in its own
proper form — it was largely disguised in that of Socinianism, a form
of natural religion masked under the name, but denying both the
principles and doctrines of Christianity. From the same tendencies
and opinions with both of these, there grew up in England a lax repub-
licanism, which caught flame from the disorders of France. The effect
was considerable in extent, and deep and permanent in the hold it took
of the popular intellect; for such diseases have a tendency to spread, and

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 329

are too congenial to the human mind to fail in effecting wide alterations.
Resting on abnegations, they are easy to the understanding ; dissolving
restraints — levelling inequalities — dethroning conscience, they flatter
the pride, ambition, and passions, of the breast. They all set out with
the assumption of all knowledge being founded on abstractions — all
power derived from an imaginary consent of an imaginary public — all
social institutions from some primary state of nature. It was easy to
invent a Deity, a religion, and a civil polity, consequent on such a begin-
ning, and adapted to return to it in theory. Thus it was that these illu-
sions, seemingly unconnected, went hand in hand; and thus ever since
have they been combined in their developments.* These causes
operated for the moment, as usual, on the popular mass, ignorant in
principle, and open to the contagion of every new impulse in the direc-
tion of their natural tendencies. They had a more formidable and
permanent operation in their effect upon the whigs. Among these,
the ignorant, the superficial, the visionary and the heated, became
more or less converts to opinions of which the fallacy lay beyond their
intellectual scope, and of which the impracticability had not been
yet exposed by consequences ; while a few more able, but also more
ambitious, were ready to avail themselves to any extent of the spirit of
the hour.

The moment had at length fully arrived when, to a mind strongly
cast and zealous in its decided bent like that of Mr Burke, it was
altogether impossible to remain silent. Deeply roused by the current
of perilous fallacies which were violently opposed to all he believed
and all he knew, it would have been irreconcilable with his character
and principles to remain a passive and acquiescent drudge to a party
which had first abandoned himself, and then shot madly from its sphere
into the maintenance of tenets foreign from all sober and constitu-
tional wisdom. The real results of the French Revolution were be-
come discernible, and it required nothing of that prophetic sagacity
for which Mr Burke has been complimented, to see what was to be
the end. Priestley, Paine, and Price, men of extraordinary acute-
ness, subtlety, and powers of popular address, deists and Socinians,
and having all the vices and fallacies of the populace on their side,
were engaged in spreading wide the contagion. Lesser luminaries of
sedition and irreligion were not wanting wherever there was popular
credulity; clubs of democrats and infidels were formed having com-
mon feelings and common purposes with the Jacobin club of Paris.

Such demonstrations left no room for misapprehension or compro-
mise; it was no time for men of sound minds and constitutional affec-
tions to stand drivelling about freedom and popular rights; the ques-
tion was too plainly about the laws and the constitution, about license
and anarchy. And indeed there is one practical truth worth all that
can be said on the subject. When the popular mind becomes tho-
roughly roused into resistance and self-assertion, it is the height of
fatuity to measure the probable result by their opinions, or by any

* The detailed proof of these reflections would, of course, demand many pages.
We only offer them here as the result of our own observation ; but we have endea-
voured, as much as we could, to shape our statements so as to convey the train of
opinion from which we consider them as demonstrable.

330 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

consideration of equity or prudence. They will follow their leaders,
and these their passions and private motives. A demagogue would
set the planet on fire to gain but a pound to his income, or an atom
to the weight of his influence.

Mr Burke had also French correspondents who were naturally de-
sirous of his opinion. In his communications with these, his efforts
commenced. They were not persons influenced by prejudices hostile
to the cause of revolution, from whom misrepresentation of its princi-
ples or circumstances might be anticipated. Among the foremost of
them was Paine himself, who seems to have omitted no effort to bring
over Mr Burke to bis own opinions. Others were anxious and
observant witnesses, who were in a great measure favourers of the
principles, but in some degree alarmed by the incidents which passed
under their eyes.

Clearly perceiving that the true limits of remedial reform were
already past, and seeing also that false views and unconstitutional
tendencies of a popular nature were beginning to spread in England,
Mr Burke became alarmed for the possible effects. The most dele-
terious elements of revolutionary opinion and sentiment found active
and powerful sources of propagation in clubs and conventions, under
several revolutionary titles, borrowed from the Parisian models, whose
language and conduct they adopted and echoed — the Revolution
Society, the Constitutional Society, the Club of the 14th of July, &c. ;
and, to give added power to the alarm of such a state of things, the
stain of revolutionary sentiment had obtained a radical hold of the
party with which he had been himself connected. In point of fact, this
party had undergone a revolution, in the course of some previous years,
which it would be hard to explain, without making full allowance for
the ordinary effect of time on human things. The early friends and
fellow-workers of Mr Burke's early political life had passed away ; and
others, who had, by the ordinary succession of persons which consti-
tutes the lapse of human life, filled their place, had, from various
causes, but most of all from the change of party leaders and combi-
nations of personal character, contracted other predilections and asso-
ciations. They were no longer the whigs of the American war; but
deeply tainted with those maxims and opinions, which we should now
describe sufficiently by the modern term " liberalism."

Finding his personal influence with this party entirely insignificant,
and his opinions altogether opposed to them on a subject to which all
others then appeared comparatively unimportant, — while he was yet
unwilling to accede directly to the other great party which was opposed
to them — one course alone remained to Mr Burke. Happily for his
fame, and happily for England — we might add, for Europe — he could
still prove as effective through the press as formerly in the debate. He
composed and published a volume which may be best described by the
ablest of his opponents. " It is," wrote Mr Mackintosh, " certainly,
in every respect, a performance, of which to form a correct estimate,
would prove one of the most arduous efforts of critical skill. We
scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much. Argument, everywhere
dexterous and specious, sometimes grave and profound, clothed in the
most rich and various imagery, and aided by the most picturesque and

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 331

pathetic description, speaks the opulence and the powers of that mind,
of which age has neither dimmed the discernment, nor enfeebled the
fancy; neither repressed the ardour, nor narrowed the range." After
a few strongly worded, but rather vague generalities, Mr Mackintosh
proceeds with a generally just and elegant description of the style and
manner of the work. " The arrangement of his work is as singular
as the matter. Availing himself of all the privileges of epistolary dif-
fusion, in their utmost latitude and laxity, he interrupts, dismisses, and
resumes argument at pleasure. His subject is as extensive as political
science ; his allusions and excursions reach to almost every region of
human knowledge. It must be confessed that, in this miscellaneous
and desultory warfare, the superiority of a man of genius over common
men is infinite. He can cover the most ignominious retreat by a
brilliant allusion. He can parade his arguments with .a masterly
generalship when they are strong. He can escape from an untenable
position into a splendid declamation. He can sap the most impreg-
nable conviction by pathos, and put to flight a host of syllogisms with
a sneer. Absolved from the laws of vulgar method, he can advance a
group of magnificent horrors to make a breach in our hearts, through
which the most undisciplined rabble of arguments may enter in
triumph."*

This eloquent, and highly rhetorical passage, while it may be
accepted as descriptive of Mr Burke's method, style, and powers, has,
beyond this, little truth, and is remarkable for exemplifying in itself
some of the artifice it imputes. Of the whole reply of Mr Mackintosh,
we should say, that it is liable to far graver charges, were it not that,
in no long time after, its author became a convert to Mr Burke, in
common with all the more sober portion of his opponents; and, for
this reason, it would be unfair to enter into any analysis of the defence.
A few words may sufficiently characterize the general error on which
this reply, with most of the other writings on the same side, mainly
rested. It was that of stripping a -vast and complicated question of
all its actual conditions, either in fact or principle. The lesser of
these two absurdities was that of Mackintosh, who reasons like a law-
yer on an assumed state of facts; and thus produces an argument, in
itself full of acute observation and correct reasoning; but not com-
prehending the whole question, and not meeting the arguments to
which he aimed to reply. Such an argument received, and that
quickly, a substantial refutation horn events. The other opponents of
Mr Burke mostly took their stand upon those essentially false views
of man, and of the social state, which were among the springs of
the revolution itself; and from which, however originated, it received
its direction, and was governed to its event.

Mr Burke's work produced an effect such as no other political essay
ever had, whether for extent or permanent importance. It arrested
the violent progress of revolutionary working in England^; it at once
deprived the clubs of all their more informed and reputable supporters;
and paralyzed the more active and dangerous section of the whigs. It
was, under Providence, the first and most decisive check to the dis-

* Defence of the French Revolution, Intro., p. iii, ed. 1*91.

332 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

organizing influence which was rapidly pervading Europe; and thus,
with the aid of subsequent incidents (of which Mr Burke 's own subse-
quent writings were the better part), preserved alive the vital spark of
social organization, when it was crushed under the ruins of every other
state. The rapid confirmation of his forebodings, and the thorough
illustration of his views — so soon afforded by the downfal of religion,
civil order, and of liberty itself — gave a solemn and impressive stamp;
and an essay, which its antagonist described as comprehending the
whole range of political science, was shown to offer the justest views of
that science.

On the life of the author himself it had memorable effects. Mr Fox
could not help feeling that a resistance so strenuous and effective,
emanating from one who had held so prominent a position among the
whigs, was dangerous to his own views. All experience had proved
Mr Burke to be capable, when roused into effort, of acting with over-
whelming zeal against all opposition. This the whole history of his
life had made manifest. It was hardly possible that Mr Fox should
fail to perceive the schism which was thus sure to be made in his
party. But there was at the moment a nearer danger to be appre-
hended. Mr Fox was, at the same time, under an impression that
circumstances had taken place which were favourable to his hopes
of office ; and he considered it injurious to such an expectation, to be
placed in the strong light which the speeches, and, above all, the
letters of Mr Burke, had cast, and were casting, upon the conduct
and principles of his party. At a moment when it was his obvious
policy to maintain a character of moderation and constitutional feeling,
all the principles which he had avowed were rendered doubtful ; his
declarations in praise of the revolution were exposed to a dangerous and
obvious interpretation ; and he was forced to choose between denying
himself, or maintaining opinions which could not well bear the sifting
of parliamentary discussion. Mr Fox was strongly alive to those sen-
timents of friendship and personal respect, which were in him the re-
sult of a sanguine temperament, and a cultivated taste. He loved and
revered Mr Burke, whose genius and virtues he could well appreciate.
But, in the path of ambition, and in the heat of party, such sentiments
have no power: they are as flowers cast upon a stream, which may
ornament, but cannot stay its course.

In imputing motives and a premeditated conduct to Mr Fox, we
would be understood to admit that he does not appear to have been
actuated by any low or ungenerous motive; or to have wished to wound
the feelings, or even to lower the character, of Mr Burke. Justice
demands that we should absolve him from every shade of jealousy, or of
any personal ill-will or unkindness. We believe that he sincerely and
deeply regretted the pain he thought it necessary to give. And we
also think it just to admit, that, although we mainly attribute his whole
conduct to ambition and the overwhelming love of popularity, he was
himself the dupe of his own false creed in politics. Any one who
attentively meditates over his most able speeches, will find room enough
for such an admission. The most specious and commanding sophist of
modern times could not have been what he pre-eminently was, w ithout
much of the rhetorical gift of self-conviction. We can easily give Mr

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 333

Fox credit for the sincere adoption of those absurd maxims, which still
continue to be occasionally announced in the houses of parliament by
his political posterity; and, as a consequence of this admission, we
must admit that he is most likely to have been sincere in his worship
of the demon of democracy. When he declared the new constitution
of the Parisian clubs as " the most stupendous and glorious edifice of
liberty which had been erected on the foundation of human integrity
in any time or country," he openly committed his character as a states-
man; and cannot be presumed otherwise than in earnest, however we
may deny the wisdom or discretion of such a declaration.

But as we have stated, Mr Fox having vainly endeavoured to check
the overbearing ardour of his friend, and imputing to his strong expo-
sures of the opinions he advocated, the reproach which was thus re-
flected on the advocate, he seems, by the best interpretation we can
give to the best narratives of the incidents which followed, to have
resolved to avail himself of his party influence for the purpose of
silencing so dangerous an adversary. The first collision brought on
no immediate consequence, but left a strong irritation, and enabled
the friends of both parties to foresee the more fierce collision which
followed. To this therefore we shall at once proceed, as the shortest
course by which we can convey some clear ideas of the whole of this
momentous event in our memoir.

During the recess, the friends of Mr Fox were more than usually
alert in preparing for the occasion which was now with certainty
foreseen by all. Mr Fox himself was industrious in anticipating the
objections to his declared opinions, and the prejudices which had been
and might still be raised against him, by dexterous explanations, and
ready evasions. The most mischievous generalities of political specu-
lation are commonly explicable into conclusions wholly different from
the sense in which they are popularly received; because they are
mostly either extreme statements of ti'ue principles — or received
fallacies. Between their general vagueness and equivocal language,
the declarations of the most opposite parties may, with slight ingenuity,
be brought into a near approach. That which is true in one sense,
is received in another; and that which is false in one sense can be
defended in another. With this latitude of interpretation, it was easy
for the dexterity of Mr Fox to reconcile a language replete with revo-
lutionary purport and influence, with certain abstract assumptions of
constitutional science. He could not impose on the understandings of
men little less acute than himself; but he could resolve dangerous
enunciations into unguarded language, and make it a matter of diffi-
culty to reply, without imputing intents from which courtesy would
shrink, and which he might disavow.

In the mean time, Mr Burke was standing quite alone. He was
deserted by his party, and refused the alliance of their opponents.
He was, however, strong in the simplicity and the clearness of his
views, and encouraged by the deep hold which these views had taken
of the better portion of the public mind. As it was no part of his in-
tentions to inculpate Mr Fox, he took no steps in opposition to the
active efforts of himself and his friends; but, it is rather probable,
silently rejoiced that the decided course they were pursuing, would

334 POLITICAL SEUIES. [FiFTH

now, by the exculpation of Mr Fox, leave himself free from the un-
happy condition of appearing to assail his principles. For the party
of Mr Fox loudly insisted that he had fully explained away all impu-
tation.

On the occasion of the first introduction of the Quebec bill by Mr
Pitt, just before the recess, it should be mentioned that Mr Fox
made a long speech, into which he introduced a disquisition in praise
of- what he termed the French constitution ; and, it is also necessary
to observe, that he had omitted no opportunity for the introduction of
this inflammatory topic in a manner which fairly laid him open to the
implication, from which at the present moment, he shrunk with so much
anxious caution, of entertaining republican opinions. As it was dis-
tinctly understood, (and, indeed, a matter of course,) that Mr Burke
would now introduce the same topic, and as his representations must
necessarily be such, as to place those of Mr Fox in their most objec-
tionable aspect, and this without any express intention of this nature,
it became to Mr Fox a consideration of some anxiety to prevent the
discussion. He had been led to believe that the king had expressed
sentiments favourable to his expectations of office, and that Mr Pitt
had endeavoured to counteract this auspicious disposition by suggest-
ing that he entertained strong republican opinions. There was, there-
fore, in the breast of Mr Fox a strong sense of the expediency of
counteracting an impression so utterly fatal to his ambition. Should
Mr Burke, with his usual force and vehemence, attack the views which
Mr Fox had laid himself under a strong pledge to maintain; it would
not only, of necessity, bring into discussion, and place the very state-
ments of Mr Fox on former occasions in a dangerous light; but it
•would place him also in the false position of defending tenets on which
his private policy required that he should be silent. With these con-
victions, he called on Mr Burke on the morning of the 6th of May —
the day appointed for the discussion of the clauses of the Quebec bill.
He frankly stated his apprehensions, and it is generally believed on
sufficient grounds, his expectations, and the nature of these expec-
tations. But Mr Burke had been too deeply committed on the pre-
vious discussion of the same bill; he had allowed Mr Fox to discuss
the subject at length without reply ; during the recess, he and his
opinions had been the theme of abuse, attack, misrepresentation, and
all the foul devices of angry factions. Silence would have been inter-
preted as defeat to himself, and the great cause of which he was the
leading champion. And to make the matter the more imperative,
it was apparent that no other opportunity was likely to occur. This
latter consideration was, on the occasion of Mr Fox's visit, urged by
Mr Burke as a reason why he could not accede to his wishes : at the
same time, he assured him, that he had no wish to charge him with
republicanism, and then stated the plan of the speech he intended to
make. Mr Fox appeared content, and they walked arm-in-arm to the
house with a common friend, who had accompanied Mr Fox. When
the question was put, Mr Burke immediately rose.

We cannot afford space for even the most abridged report of the
discussion that ensued, and must endeavour to select such passages as
may suffice to illustrate the event as it personally affected Mr Burke.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 335

The purpose of the bill was to make provision for the government of
the province of Quebec; and it was not a subject of doubt that it would
be made use of to lead to the discussion of the general principles of
government, and in consequence to' the great questions then uppermost
in the public mind. To make this the more obvious, and to account
still more clearly for the line of Mr Burke's argument, it is enough
to repeat, that such was the line selected by Mr Fox in his previous
speech on the 21st of April, when he proposed that the bill should be
framed conformably to those alleged principles of genuine freedom
which were then beginning to make a rapid progress. To resist such
a view, and to counteract the force of such statements, was the im-
mediate intent of Mr Burke; and it will be enough to say, without
entering into details which would lead to much repetition, that his
speech was essentially a deprecation of revolutionary principles. This
had been, of course, foreseen on every side \ and the discussion was,
from the commencement, marked by a strong sensation. Some of Mr
Fox's friends had also already declared their intention of calling any
gentleman to order, who should attempt to introduce discussions
foreign from the immediate question. That this declaration was
meant as the preliminary to an attack on Mr Burke, was perfectly
understood at the moment, and now admits of no doubt. Accord-
ingly, Mr Burke was interrupted, in the midst of a very strong, but
rigidly true, statement of the condition of the French monarch, by
Mr Baker. Mr Burke, after listening with great good temper, de-
fended himself in a few sentences. He vindicated the application of
his argument, and was proceeding, when Mr St John again called him
to order, and protested against the discussion of the French revolution.
Mr Burke proceeded, and said that he would take the sense of the
committee, whether he was in order or not. He had not said many
words, when a loud outcry of " Order" was set up, accompanied by ari
equally strong and numerous call of " Go on." Mr Burke observed
that there was such an enthusiasm for order, that it was not easy to
go on. He again vindicated the design and application of his argu-
ment, which he pursued with considerable address, so as to render it
difficult to interrupt him without incurring the imputation of opinions,
from which all seemed to shrink. The very first moment however,
that he again turned to the more general discussion, he was again
clamorously interrupted. Mr Burke complained of the proceeding, and
was in the course of a very few sentences repeatedly interrupted, all of
which he bore with remarkable equanimity. At last lord Sheffield
rose, and moved that dissertations on the French constitution, &c.,
&c., were disorderly on the question then before the house. Mr Fox
seconded this motion in a speech of some length.

Up to this period of the debate, Mr Burke received no aid from any
of his own party. Mr Pitt, who with some other government mem-
bers declared that he was in order, endeavoured to prevail on some
common friends of both Mr Burke and Mr Fox to interfere. But
among the more considerate and respectable of their party, there was
a deep conviction of the hazard and delicacy as well as the inutility
of any such interposition. It was thought that both were too strongly
committed, that each felt too strongly excited, and that the safest way

336 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

would be to suffer them to give fall and free course to the impulses by
which they appeared to be possessed. Mr Fox's speech was such as to
be very strongly illustrative of the true intent and spirit of himself and
his friends. He lamented the melancholy task of refuting charges un-
provoked and wanton; and declared the regret he should feel to lose
the friendship of the man to whom he had been indebted for the
better part of his knowledge and feelings. He then- stated his sense
that there existed a plot against him, and that Mr Burke had come
prepared, not to debate the clauses before the committee, but to con-
firm representations of his opinions expressed in a former debate. He
next branched out into the praises of the French revolution. He
hinted that Mr Burke's pen or tongue derived HO honour from the
discussion of great events without information ; and declare^ that if
he should be permitted to pursue his argument on the French con-
stitution, that he (Mr Fox) would leave the house.

Mr Burke rose to reply to this speech, of which we have only
brought together so much as bears reference to the point of conten-
tion. He began in a calm and governed tone, and observed that not-
withstanding the repeated interruptions he had himself received, that
he had listened with the most forbearing attention to Mr Fox. He
hoped that the temper suitable to such an emergency would attend
him through this painful contention. He noticed that Mr Fox's speech
on a question of order had been the most disorderly ever delivered
in that house. He then proceeded to observe that his own public
conduct and language had been misrepresented, and even his private
conversation unfairly brought forward, to convict him of inconsistency.
Such was the kindness he had experienced from one whom he had for
twenty-two years regarded as his most confidential friend; and who
now, without any provocation, had thought it not unfit to commence a
personal attack upon him. Having expressed his readiness to meet
Mr Fox " hand to hand," and " foot to foot," on the question of the
French revolution, he observed that this was, it seemed, not the point
of quarrel: he was, he said, accused of introducing the topic to fix a
stigma upon certain republican opinions, which Mr Fox was said to
have uttered in a former debate. He denied the charge, and then
referred to facts already stated in the foregoing pages, to show the
improbability of such a design. In a word, he made it as plain as the
nature of the charge could admit, that no such intention could exist.
He then went on to the discussion of the revolution; after which he
reverted to Mr Fox's attack upon himself, and complained of its
unfairness, and of the asperity with which it had been conducted.
" The right honourable gentleman after having fatigued him with
skirmishes of order, which were wonderfully managed by the light
infantry of opposition, then brought down upon him the heavy
artillery of his own judgment, eloquence and abilities, to overwhelm
him." A further allusion to the previous interruptions, in which he
called the supporters of Mr Fox " a corps of well-disciplined troops,"
drew forth a fresh interruption from Mr Grey. An incident which
occurred in the course of this speech was supposed to have drawn
forth these expressions, and we think may also have tended to add to
the excitement which must have been accumulating in Mr Burke's

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 337

mind, during the discussion. Mr Fox had previously declared an in-
tention to leave the house, if Mr Burke should be allowed to proceed
on the question of France, but having made up his mind to reply, he
went to the lobby to procure some refreshment. This movement was
mistaken by his friends, who, conceiving that he was quitting the
house, immediately to the number of twenty or thirty took up their
hats and followed him. Mr Fox returned, and it was probably under
a sense of increased exasperation, that Mr Burke proceeded to say
that until the present question, no one difference had ever occurred to
interrupt their friendship. " It certainly," he said, " was indiscreet
at his time of life to provoke enmity, or to give his friends occasion to
desert him ; yet if his firm and steady adherence to the British con-
stitution placed him in such a dilemma he would risk all." Mr Fox
here whispered that there was no loss of friendship. Mr Burke went
on to say, that he was sorry there was. "He knew the price of his con-
duct— he had done his duty at the price of his friend — their friend-
ship was at an end." When, after some concluding observations, Mr
Burke sat down, Mr Fox rose to reply: he appeared to labour under
the most violent agitation; the tears streamed down his face, and it
was some minutes before he could proceed. Great excitement pre-
vailed on both sides of the house.

Mr Fox confessed great obligations to Mr Burke — he noticed their
former differences of opinion, and observed that on the present occa-
sion Mr Burke seemed to display more than mere difference of opin-
ion. He appeared to be actuated by a wish to injure him ; at least
his conduct had such a tendency. He then stated his opinions on the
British constitution, and after several just and forcible reflections on
this topic, said, that granting his language had been indiscreet on the
French revolution, it did not deserve the severe and pointed epithets
which had been heaped upon him that day. Mr Burke, on this, said,
loud enough to be heard, that he did not recollect having used any.
Mr Fox said, if they were out of his right honourable friend's recol-
lection, they were out of his own. He then reasserted Mr Burke's
want of information on the affairs of France; but confessed that he
had not himself read what had been written on the subject by Paine
and Mr Mackintosh — the writings to which Mr Burke had referred,
— a strange admission, and one which explains much. Mr Fox then
branched out into that thoroughly inconsequent reasoning, which has
been ever since the cant of his party and admirers, stating vague tru-
isms and applying them when the application failed ; and confounding
plain distinctions in such a manner as to have necessarily demanded
much patience in an adversary to hear. He also recollected and quoted
some conversational remarks and jests of Mr Burke's, of which he made
a dexterous, but unfair use. He then proceeded to praise the French
revolution, and stated in its defence some reasons from which the strong-
est objections to it manifestly arose. He then defended himself from the
imputation of having instigated the interruptions which had offended
Mr Burke ; asserting, that though he had been unfairly treated, it
should not interfere with his friendship; that he would keep out of the
right honourable gentleman's way, until time and reflection had
altered his sentiments; when, he doubted not, their common friends

VOL. v. Y

338 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

would endeavour to reunite them. And after several further political
arguments in his usual strain, he concluded with expressions of regret
at the unkindness with which he was now treated, by one from whom
he had received numerous favours.

One point of Mr Fox's speech may, as we said, explain much. He
had not read many of those writings which offered the main incentives
to Mr Burke; and, being to a great extent, unaware of the violent
and deleterious sentiments which were pervading the public mind in
both countries> and in which really consisted the pernicious tendencies
of the French revolution, he had fallen into remarkable misapprehen-
sions. First, he applied to himself the whole force and intent of all
Mr Burke's strong denunciations of revolutionary principle and theory,
because he was not fully aware of their real direction. Secondly, his
own information on the revolution was composed of vague plausibility
and untrue statement, obtained from those whose purpose it was to
misrepresent it. It is indeed not impossible that a patient perusal of
the same books, pamphlets, and journals, from which Mr Burke had,
with his usual industry, at this time, made himself master of the en-
tire subject, would have restrained Mr Fox from the impetuous error
which marks all his language, and which time has so amply exposed.
He reposed in theories and slighted facts, of which he evaded the
force by the easy retort of misinformation.

Mr Burke rose, with a firmness which was manifestly the result of
much internal effort. He commenced by saying that the tenderness
which had been displayed in the beginning and conclusion of Mr
Fox's speech, was entirely obliterated by the middle part. He re-
greted in a tone of earnestness and fervency, the proceedings of that
evening, which he feared might long be remembered by their enemies,
to the prejudice of both. Under the mask of kindness a new attack
had been made upon his character in the most hostile manner, and
his very jests brought up in judgment against him. His most in-
veterate enemy could not have done worse. He had been repeatedly
interrupted without being suffered to explain ; and accused, without
being allowed to defend himself; insomuch, that he was at a loss to
understand what was meant either by party or friendship. His argu-
ments, he said, had been misrepresented, as well as all the main events
of his political life, to convict him of inconsistency. Upon these, the
Economical Reform bill, the American, and some other questions,
(already discussed in this memoir,) he dwelt briefly. The inconsistency
of his book, with his former writings, had been assumed; but he chal-
lenged the proof by specific instances, and asserted that not one syllable
of his book, or one step of his conduct, was contrary to the principles of
those men with whom our glorious revolution originated, and to whose
principles as a whig, he declared an inviolable attachment. " He
again stated, still more particularly, the endeavours used in this coun-
try to supplant our own, by the introduction of the new French con-
stitution ; but he did not believe Mr Fox had now such a wish, and
he did believe him to deliver his opinions abstractedly from any
reference to this country ; yet their effect might be different on
those who heard them, and still more on others through misappre-
hension or misrepresentations. He exposed the grounds upon \vhick

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 339

Mr Fox rested his panegyric. The lesson to kings would, he feared,
be of a kind opposite to that proposed. He had heard Mr Fox own
the king of France to be the best intentioned sovereign in Europe.
His good nature had ruined him. He had conceded everything, till he
was now in a jail." He then went on to expose the absurdity of prais-
ing France for religious toleration. As subsequent events have been
such as render any exposure superfluous, we pass his statements ou
this point. He concluded by saying, that he was sorry for the occur-
rence of the day, but if it could be of use to any, he was willing to
take the evil to himself; he would caution every member of the house
against bartering away the advantages of the British constitution
for wild and visionary systems which could only lead to confusion and
disorder.

The same discussion was revived on the llth. When the clause
on the legislative council was read; Mr Fox rose to oppose it^ Mr
Fox's speech was, however, cautious, and the sentiments which he-
expressed free from revolutionary language. Mr Pitt expressed his
satisfaction, but observed that his speeches on the former night hadi
conveyed a different impression. Mr Burke, who had in the interval
been evidently excited by the comments of the press, and of the-
friends of Mr Fox, and also by the strong feeling necessarily attendant
on a position so new and painful, rose evidently labouring under the
influence of such feelings ; and in strong terms expressed his sense of
the unhappy position he was reduced to. He had served the house
and his country for a period of twenty-six years ; he had wasted so
much of his life to a precious purpose, if- that house should at last
countenance a most insidious design to ruin him in reputation, and to
crown his old age with infamy. He had not been treated with friend-
ship; but, if he was separated from his party; if sentence of banish-
ment were pronounced against him, he hoped to meet a fair open
hostility, to which he would oppose himself in a firm manly way, for
the very short period he should continue a member of that house. He
felt deeply wounded, but, jam certus eundi, carpebat somnum. He
complained that a plot to make Mr Fox pass for a republican, was
imputed to him in a newspaper which he proceeded to read. An
attempt was here made to interrupt him ; but it was arrested by some
more considerate member, and he proceeded on the same subject for
a little longer, and then passed on to the French revolution, and ap-
plied Milton's description of death to the new republican govern-
ment, with much effect. He lastly discussed the clause of the bill,
and having commented on the arguments of Mr Fox, concluded by
some pathetic remarks on his own position.

Mr Fox replied by making several just and conciliatory observations
of a general nature, but soon passed into a vein of sarcasm and un-
warrantably severe imputation, altogether irreconcilable with any
kindness of intention ; omitting no disrespect of insinuation, or no
keen severity of remark which the occasion admitted, that could
wound the feelings of the man or the gentleman. Whether Mr Fox
was himself quite conscious of the severity of his language is a ques-
tion which we would gladly discuss, if our space allowed; but it is a
nice and difficult question. There are undoubtedly to be met, and

340 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

that not unfrequently, men of great talent and much kindliness of
nature, who will trample upon the feelings, and sometimes even on
the reputation of their friends, without the least consciousness of the
effect they are producing. This may perhaps be best explained by
assuming the absence of those feelings which they thus heedlessly
assail, and the want of any nicety in the moral sense. Of course
we cannot with any confidence venture to apply such a solution to Mr
Fox; but may observe, that it can be reconciled with so much of his
personal history as has reached us. Of its general justness, experi-
ence has convinced us. Amongst other wounding and unfounded
insinuations, he hinted that the right honourable gentleman's vanity
misled him to attach an undue importance to the personal topics which
he had brought before the house. Mr Burke's reply consisted of
several strong retorts, into which, not having detailed Mr Fox's
remarks, we shall not enter.

This discussion was the end of Mr Burke's friendship with Mr Fox,
and his connexion with his party. We have therefore endeavoured
to select every point of the discussion, material to this event. Our
opinion we have endeavoured to interweave, and have little further to
offer on the subject. It should be generally observed, that subsequent
events were such as amply to justify the earnest zeal of Mr Burke's
conduct : there is no ground for the assumption that it was not sincere,
or reason to find wrong motives forthat which can be so amply explained
on obvious and sufficient grounds. But had not this been the fact, Mr
Burke's book had pledged him to the precise line of conduct he pur-
sued, too manifestly, to leave any excuse for the imputations of Mr Fox.
— This gentleman was, however, at the moment struggling to hold
his own party together, and may be acquitted or excused to some ex-
tent on the score of desperation. " He probably feared," observes a
contemporary, " lest the schism which was now actually begun, might
spread further. He wished therefore to erect the barrier of supposed
consistency to stop the secession of others, and to strengthen it, by
the terror of punishment to all who should pass it. He endeavoured
to establish a bond of indissoluble union against the ministry of Mr
Pitt, on the principle of the contest in 1784, and to set that above all
other principles. This policy has, however, been ineffectual. A
separation followed where Mr Burke had made a crack."* This
writer then observes, that Mr Burke's separation had an earlier origin,
which we consider as highly important, and to demand full allowance.
In truth Mr Burke's party had died away — they had as he himself said,
"gone where he soon must follow, and another party had succeeded with
whom he had acted.'' And we may add, that surely they who accused
Mr Burke in the following terms, could not fairly charge him with
inconsistency. " The oracle of a great aristocracy, it had been neces-
sary for you to form a creed : and you neglected the progress of the
human 'mind subsequent to its adoption." Such is the strongest of
testimonies, the unconscious admission of an enemy .f The charge of
inconsistency thus retorts itself upon the party which departed from

* Ann. Register, 1791.
f Parallel between the conduct of Mr Burke and that of Mr Fox.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 341

an old constitutional creed, in conformity with this imaginary progress
— but actual disorder — of the times. It is more important to observe,
that to this time may be more accurately referred the great crisis of
the change which was permanently altering the spirit of the whig
party. To describe best in a few words, the principle of this change,
it was essentially the adoption of popular will as a fundamental
maxim. This is the real result of the French revolution: a maxim
which, according to all reason, is purely absurd; but, adopted and
carried to its effects, destructive and disorganizing. We should,
however, qualify this strong language. This maxim is now applied
with much ambiguity. By the leading whig statesmen it is received
in a qualified sense; and we have no doubt that if the leaders of
the great whig party of our own time were to be pressed for a
distinct explanation of their meaning, it would be explained into a
conformity with all those constitutional principles, which are utterly
inconsistent with its literal sense. But by the lower classes it is liter-
ally understood. Hence arises much of the occasional popularity of the
whigs. A language which imposes on the public ear, but which cannot
be carried out in practice, naturally raises expectation when they are
out of power, and produces disappointment when they are in.

The writer last quoted, for the charge of standing still, which he
prefers against Mr Burke, gives us a no less curious pendant in his
picture of Mr Fox's opposite perfection. " Unshackled by the chains
of system; at liberty to remark and follow the progress of opinion:
and meriting the singular, [singular indeed!] praise of being more near
to the level of his age than any professed statesman in Europe."
We could not help reading this pithy sentence with the exclamation —
Defend us from our friends ! Yet the partiality of the writer surely
forgot Rousseau, Anacharsis Clootz, and all the statesmen of the
Jacobin Club. But it would be indeed unfair to Mr Fox, to associate
his name with praise like this: we have only quoted it to illustrate
the mixture of falsehood and folly which characterizes the attacks
which were then, and long after, so lavished upon Mr Burke 's repu-
tation.

As we shall now entirely quit the subjects into which we have
thought it our duty to enter, we must request the reader's further
attention to a few closing general remarks. The weight of obloquy
which has long been poured on this illustrious name, out of all com-
parison the greatest which his country, or an age fertile in great men
has produced, and the little and cold opposition which so much unfair
and fallacious notice has called forth, these appear to demand some
explanation. One consideration alone will be all-sufficient. Mr Burke
had no party. The whigs had left him; and he had not secured the
favour of the opposite party. By the higher individuals of both, he
was admired, respected, and loved: but it is not by such that the
warfare of party malignity is carried on, or the reputation of states-
men set right. During the life, and long after the death of Mr Burke,
he was the mark of a low hostility: the fire and force of his public
conduct had aroused more than the ordinary animosity of the inferior
class of the new whig partisans: some individual enmities added their
more concentrated infusion of private rancour. On the other side, the

342 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

antagonists of this low class of calumniators, little superior in intelli-
gence, not at all in moral temper, found in the history of Mr Burke,
incidents inconsistent with their own party views. So few there are, who
can take up an opinion without carrying it to extremes, and maintaining
it as a prejudice, that the man who, reasoning from principle, rejects
party maxims and holds his course between the errors on either side,
can seldom find a champion unshackled enough to defend his memory.
Mr Burke was too liberal for the .zealot, and too principled for the
latitudinarian. Between both, he was suffered to sink far below his
proper place in the history of his time. His writings preserved him
for better times. But it was not until Mr Prior, with most laudable
industry, and with ability proportioned to his zeal, brought together
the facts of his life, and placed before the public the whole materials of
the great question as to his real merits, that we can be said to have the
means of obtaining even a remote approximation to the claim of one
who has done more for England, and for posterity, than any other
statesman.

The length to which this memoir has been allowed to run is quite

' disproportioned to our space. But it will be needless to apprize any
one who has accompanied us thus far, that we have had, according to
our views, no choice. We must endeavour to repair the inconvenience
by much restricting some less essential portions of our task. Among
others, the remaining personal events of Mr Burke's life demand no
lengthened details. We shall despatch them rapidly.

As the French revolution advanced towards its more fatal stages,
numerous hordes of emigrants crowded into England. Among these,
Mr Burke became an object of great interest. They had seen the
experimental illustration of his predictions and reasonings too nearly,
not to apprehend his intellectual pre-eminence justly. His efforts to
remedy their forlorn state claimed their gratitude. He drew up a
public appeal in their behalf,* which obtained a large subscription.
We extract from Mr Prior an interesting account, given by Mr C.
Butler, of some of those almost daily levees of Mr Burke to those unfortu-
nate persons at which he waspresent. " Some time inthe month of August,
1791, the Reminiscent called on that great man, and found him as he
usually was at this time surrounded by many of the French nobility,
and haranguing with great eloquence on the horrors of the French
Revolution, and the general ruin with which it threatened every state
in Europe. One of his hearers interrupted him by saying, with some-
what more of levity than suited either the seriousness of the subject,
or the earnestness with which Mr Burke was expressing himself —
' Mais enfin, Monsieur, quand est a que nous se tournerons dans la
France?' 'Jamais!' was Mr Burke's answer. It was a word of wo:
he pronounced it in a very impressive manner, and it evidently appalled
the whole audience." After a short silence, during which his mind
seemed to be labouring with something too big for utterance, " Mes-
sieurs," he exclaimed, " les fausses esperances ne sont pas une monnoie,

que j'ai dans mon tresor: dans la France vous retournerez jamais."
" Quoi done," cried one of the audience, " ces coquins!" " Coquins!"

* Mr Prior gives it at full length,. pp. 393, cd. 1839.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 343

said Mr Burke, " ils sont coquins ; mais Us sont les coquins les plus
terribles que la monde a connu.'' " It is most strange," he then said
in the English language — " I fear I am the only person in France or
England, who is aware of the extent of the danger with which we are
threatened." But, said the Reminiscent, wishing to prolong the verj
interesting conversation, " the Duke of Brunswick is to set all right."
" The Duke of Brunswick!" exclaimed Mr Burke — " The Duke of
Brunswick to do any goodJ — a war of posts, to subdue France!''
another silence. " Ce qui me desespere de plus,'' he said, " est que
quand on plane dans 1'hemisphere politique Je ne vois gueres une tete
ministerielle a la hauteur des circonstauces.''

The celebratedMadame de Genlis was at this time among his visitors,
and some very curious instances of her singularity are mentioned by
Mr Prior. The late Sir W. Smith, then a young man, and in the out-
set of his honourable career, was at the same time his correspondent,
and soon after among his favoured visitors. His account of a visit to Mr
Burke remains, and gives a most satisfactory and interesting glance
into the domestic life and character of his host; but it cannot with-
out injustice be abridged. It will be found in Mr Prior's memoir.

Excluded from any very efficient line of parliamentary conduct, Mr
Burke could not yet refrain from such exertions as the urgent and
critical necessity of the times seemed to require. It was evident that
all his views and the principles on which they had been formed, were in
direct opposition to those of the party of Mr Fox. To waste his time
and spirit in vain declamations — and, with the fortune of Cassandra,
stand venting idle denunciations of woe in the face of a heedless or
scoffing faction, was neither consistent with the real dignity of hi«
character, or with his deep and earnest sense of the emergency. He
saw that whatever was to be hoped from any human hand, must come
from the government, and that to it strong impressions of salutary fear
and indignation had been already communicated. The strong and
practical understanding of Mr Pitt — broad and solid — in which, clear dis-
cernment and masterly reasoning were governed by that all-important
quality of sound common sense, so often wanting to men of distin-
guished talents, and never more so than in his great adversary — had
now attained to the ascendancy, which such a character of mind, when
not very unfavourably circumstanced, is sure to attain. And the govern-
ment had become accessible to reasonable views. Mr Burke drew up
a paper entitled, " Thoughts on French Affairs," which he offered for
their consideration. We here subjoin Mr Prior's summary of its matter,
as we cannot offer the same substance more briefly. " He arrives,"
says Mr Prior, " at these conclusions of which subsequent exposure
has taught us the truth — that no counter-revolution in France was to
be expected from internal causes only; that the longer the system
existed, it would become stronger both within and without; and that
while it did exist, it would be the interest of the rulers there to disturb
and distract all other governments."

Mr Burke had also the consolation of finding that his reasonings
had pervaded Europe, and made strong impressions of a salutary na-
ture on the foreign courts. He received a complimentary letter from
Katharine, Empress of Russia : to which he returned a dignified and

344 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

impressive answer, strongly urging upon her the line of conduct right
to be adopted in the existing condition of danger to which the civilized
world was exposed.

He was about the same period solicited to take upon him the sup-
port of the claims brought forward by the members of the church of
Rome, in Ireland; to which he freely assented; and his son Richard
Burke was appointed their agent. This amiable and promising young
man came over to Ireland, with the view to impart, if possible, a tone
of moderation and prudence to the somewhat misdirected proceedings
of that body. It was by no means a favourable opening for a political
career. The spirit and temper of this most unfortunate class of
the Irish people was just, at that period sustaining a change pro-
ductive of many dark and deep calamities, first to themselves, and
through them to Ireland. The revolutionary temper of the time,
which had quickly found a congenial element in Ireland, was com-
municated to them. Long suppressed by a penal system, highly op-
pressive in itself; but, perhaps, the necessary counterbalance to the
profession of a foreign allegiance inconsistent with the constitution,
they had sunk into a torpor, and showed little temper to take part in
public affairs. But the times had changed: a kindly spirit had
grown up towards them among the protestants, the most oppres-
sive of the penal enactments had been repealed, and they began to
breathe the air of freedom. It was perhaps at an unfortunate period.
Always ready by temperament, to listen to the language of discontent,
and to obey any summoner to strife, they were in their triumph
taught to believe that the concessions they had obtained, had been the
result of weakness and fear, and that they were but preliminary to the
entire triumph of their church, in the struggle which was to free their
country from the English yoke. This spirit did not indeed now, as
in a former time, originate among the members of the Papal Church ;
they caught the revolutionary contagion from a wide-spreading con-
spiracy which had its seed from France, and its root among the volun-
teers, but which found its proper soil among these who had hopes and
grievances both real and fanciful to f6ed excitement on. Old recol-
lections were revived; present discontents inflamed; party animosities
added to these. But the new enthusiasm — the spirit of the Jacobins,
philosophers and constitution makers, governed the whole. Young
and talented, but untaught and unregulated enthusiasts, fired with
ambitious yearnings for change, and inspired by false speculations,
had begun to rise to the surface. Old grievances were become but
the vail under which the foul machinations of conspiracy, and the
yeasty workings of the French Revolution, were secretly preparing.
This, not then understood even in Ireland — and long after confirmed
by subsequent disclosures,* gave a tone to the leaders of the popular
party, very much adapted to perplex young Burke. He did not per-
ceive or enter into their views; much discontent was shown, and still
more broadly vented among the leaders of the party. In a word, he
was unconsciously placed in communication with the United Irishmen.

It will be enough to mention here, that Mr Burke's efforts were on

* This will be satisfactorily explained in a brief sketch of Tone's life.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 345

this occasion attended with considerable success, of which the parti-
culars will hereafter come to be detailed.

In 1792, his friend Sir Joshua Reynolds died. Mr Burke was left
his executor, with legacies amounting to £4000. After conducting
the funeral, he made an effort to return thanks to the members of the
Royal Academy, for the honour shown to the remains of their president:
his feelings so overpowered him, that he was unable to proceed, and
after some vain efforts was compelled to relinquish the task. He
nevertheless drew up a character of his departed friend for the public
journals ; the author was immediately recognised by his style, and
it was described even by an enemy as being " as fine a portrait as Rey-
nolds ever painted.''

Mr Burke, though far less alert on public questions, still came for-
ward on such as appeared by their tendency to involve the principles
of the constitution. We shall not stop to dwell on his able and
elaborate " Sketch of a negro code," drawn up in 1780; but at this time
when the slave trade was under discussion, sent by him to Mr Dundas.
Nor can we afford to dwell with suitable fulness upon his opposition
to Mr Grey's motion for parliamentary reform, a measure which the
reader of these pages must at once perceive to have been unsuited to
the state of the time, if referred to the principles and views of Mr Burke.

He at this period took a decided part against a motion introduced
by Mr Fox, to repeal certain legal disabilities affecting the Unitarians.
Whether or not a class of persons professing deism, under the form
and name of Christianity, were properly the subjects of legal restriction,
is a question needless to discuss here; but as we have already sug-
gested in this memoir, the same temper of mind which rejects the
authority of the Scriptures, is the ready recipient for all other dis-
organizing tendencies and opinions. The Unitarians then actually
composed the medium in England, for the reception and transfusion
of revolutionary notions. As a sect, their main object was the over-
throw of the church ; as a party, they were no less animated with a
strong and zealous animosity against the constitution and government.
Such a combination of demerits, called decisively for the utmost opposi-
tion of every true Christian or sane statesman. Mr Burke's speech is
extant in a corrected form in his Works.

In the mean time, the progress of events was giving the strongest
as well as the most public and authoritative of all possible confir-
mations to his political reasonings and statements. And the effect
became every day more broadly visible among the party he had left ;
they were diminishing in numbers, and still more decidedly losing
ground in public estimation. The respect of the better classes of
thinkers, for his person and character, increased, and while he was
intent on the tranquil cultivation of retirement, his opinion was
earnestly sought by the wisest statesmen of the age.

Mr Pitt naturally desired to gain an accession so important, as that
division of the whigs whom the extreme opinions adopted by their
leader had impelled to separate with Mr Burke. A negotiation for
this purpose was set on foot, and Mr Burke, who took a considerable
part to effect so desirable an end, took the occasion to urge the
advantages to be derived from the accession of Mr Fox. On Mr

346 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

Fox he also pressed the expediency of such an alliance, through the
medium of common friends. We here only notice this, because it ascer-
tains the fallacy of the slanderous imputation of secret enmity.
Dissevered from Mr Fox by wounded feelings and a sense (some-
what extreme,) of duty, he yet retained a tender affection for him,
and a strong desire to induce him to quit the extravagant course
into which he had been diverted by the worship of popularity. The
hope was vain — Mr Fox demanded as a primary condition, the re-
signation of Mr Pitt, that they might take office on terms of equality.

The emergencies of the period continued still thickening, and Mr
Burke drew up a paper containing " Heads for consideration on the
present state of affairs," of which he sent copies to the king, the mem-
bers of government, and to the leading members of the whig seceding
party, known as the "Portland party." In this sagacious state paper,
he exhibits just anticipations of political results yet in the womb of
futurity, and far from their development. Yet wonderful as must ap-
pear the anticipation of so much that time has since realized, the manner
is still more remarkable; free from the ambiguity, the vague ampli-
tude or the mystic obscurity of those who aim to be, or who have been
considered oracular, Mr Burke's predictions are deduced from his facts
and his principles, with the clearness of science. He reasons largely
from the experience of the past, collects .all the precedent* of European
history, examines the state of France, its moral elements, with the
temper, liabilities and resources of Europe. Among other memorable
conclusions of this pamphlet, he states his persuasion that no effective
opposition was likely ever to be made, of which England should not
be the head and arm. He also contended that war was inevitable,
and left no important portion of the subsequent events in the history
of Europe, unmarked, in this remarkable paper.

Separated in a measure from the movements of party, Mr Burke
entered on a strenuous course of independent action to promote a
sound and uniform action of the powers, resources, and talents of the
kingdom; and this with a degree of effect unparalleled in the history
of modern British, statesmen. Respected by all but that extreme
party which was daily sinking into a faction and becoming more re-
buked by events; his counsel was sought, and his advice either
wholly or partially adopted on every question of moment. Among
these marks of standard character may be also enumerated the dis-
tinction of being the mark of abuse in the National Convention. " The
moment," said a principal orator of that notorious assembly, "is not
yet arrived in which may be seen at the bar of the revolutionary tri-
bunal that Orestes of the British parliament, the madman Burke, the
insolent lord Grenville, or the plotter Pitt."

In the summer of 1793, Mr Burke with his son accompanied the
Duke of Portland, who went to Oxford to be installed as chancellor of
the university. While there Mr Burke chiefly remained with Mr
Winstanly principal of Alban Hall. The following extract of a letter
written on this occasion by the principal, is given by Mr Prior: — " It
would indeed be as useless as it would be presumptuous in me to
attempt to add to the reputation of Mr Burke. Among the studies to
which I have immediately applied, there is one which, from his atten-

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 347

tion to the more important concerns of active life, it might be sup-
posed that he had overlooked; I mean that of ancient and modern
languages. Those, however, who were acquainted with the univer-
sality of his information, will not be surprised to hear, that it would
have been exceedingly difficult to have met with a person who knew
more of the philosophy, the history, and filiation of languages, or of
the principles of etymological deduction than Mr Burke." Numerous
stories are extant, many of which have been collected by Mr Prior,
which both confirm and amplify the impression which this is calcu-
lated to convey, of the universality and the precision of Mr Burke's
range of information. But it may be here observed, that such is the
impression made by the perusal of his speeches; partaking of all the
varied merits of the best speakers of his day, falling short in none,
excelling in the principal, he stands apart in this high praise. With
the rich wardrobe of phrase and figure — the rapid perception — the
wide comprehension — the soundness of reason based on the profound
acquaintance with principle, with a vigour and luxuriance of the
loftiest poetical imagination sobered by the purest iaste, he com-
manded all the various elements of a far grasping acquaintance with
all the history, the nature and the concerns of mankind. Such is the
joint impression made by his speeches and writings; and there is a
uniform testimony that it was confirmed by the whole intercourse of
his life. Living at the same period with many great men, there was
not one of them, to whom the application of Johnson's sayings of him,
would not have sounded absurdly. But such men are certain to be
underrated, even by their admirers; they cannot be grasped by the
intellectual glance, and must be looked on in detail.

In 1794, Mr Burke had the misfortune to lose his attached and
loving brother Richard. Their affectionate intercourse had been un-
broken through life, and for many years Richard had been borne
forward in life, by the influence, while he shared the home and purse
of his eldest brother; services amply repaid in devoted love. Of
Richard's talents, the recollections are favourable, and he was con-
sidered as a rising lawyer at the bar. He wrote well, and was much
esteemed for the goodness of his heart, as well as for his spirit and
facetious humour, which enlivened the intellectual circle in which he
lived. For the rest we may quote Goldsmith.

" Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must sigh at,

Alas, that such frolic should now be so quret !

What spirits were his, what wit and what whim !

Now breaking a jest, and now breaking a limb !

Now wrangling and grumbling to keep up the ball ;

Now teazing and vexing, yet laughing at all !

In short, so provoking a devil was Dick,

That we wished him full ten times a day at old Nick;

But missing his mirth and agreeable vein,

As often we wished to have Dick back again."

The last appearance of Mr Burke in the house of commons, was on
the 20th of June, 1794. On that day the thanks of the house was
moved by Mr Pitt, to the managers of Mr Hastings' trial, which was
carried. Mr Burke had a little before published a digested report of
the proceedings — a work which by .the best authorities has been ad-

348 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

mitted to stand at the head of that highest class of state papers to
•which it belongs. Mr Charles Butler, and Mr Mills, have done it
justice; but as we are compelled to be very brief, we shall here prefer
to extract the few compendious observations of Mr Prior ; simply pre-
mising that they are no more than rigidly just. Speaking of this
report, Mr Prior says it " is reputed by those who are presumed to be
competent judges of the subject, which embraces very important ques-
tions of law, one of the ablest and most elaborate papers that have
come from the pen of Mr Burke. It observes in detail, under the
various heads of jurisdiction of the lords — law of parliament — rule of
pleading — publicity of judges' opinions — debates on evidence — circum-
stantial evidence — practice of the courts below — and others, as well as
upon all minor circumstances connected with the impeachment; and
the greatest source of surprise to the reader will be, the recondite and
various knowledge of legal forms, principles and history which it
exhibits, and which must hereafter make it a source of interest to the
legal profession, upon which it comments with so much force and
freedom, but without the least hostility." One sentence from Mr C.
Butler, we must add, — " The question occurs on a nice point in the doc-
trine of testimony; but it embraces the whole subject, and abounds in
learning and profound observations ; unfortunately its title is far from
alluring, and it therefore has been little read."

Soon after Mr Burke vacated his seat by the acceptance of the
Chiltern Hundreds.

Though thus ostensibly retiring from public life, even still he was
not less active in his efforts for the cause, which he had of late years so
ably, and so successfully maintained. Nor can it be reckoned by right-
minded observers of that period as the least useful of his services, to
have brought about the union of his own party ; that is to say, of the
Portland party, with government. The flippancy of assertion usual on
such occasions, attacked this junction with the common reproach of
secession, desertion, &c. We have anticipated all that need be said in
reply; but reply is needless. There was no secession and no desertion,
unless such may be charged on Mr Fox, and those who with him had
separated themselves from all that was sober, reasonable, and sound in
their party, by the adoption of the philosophers, infidels and antisocial-
ists of the French revolution. Attempts were made by their mutual
friends to effect a personal reconciliation between Mr Burke and Mr
Fox. Mr Burke's own observation was this, " My separation from Mr
Fox is a principle and not a passion; I hold it a sacred duty, while
the present disorganizing system continues in operation in Europe, to
confirm what I have said and written against it by this sacrifice, and
it is no trifling test of my sincerity. To me the loss is great; but to
what purpose would be our meeting, when our views and conduct con-
tinue so essentially at variance ? I could take no delight with him,
nor he probably with me."

But at this time a trial was preparing for Mr Burke, which was to
consign the remainder of his laborious and honourable life to a con-
dition of utter desolation and sorrow, such as death alone could relieve.
Richard Burke, his only son — whose worth, amiability, and promising
talents, are variously attested, both by the evidence of many persons of

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 340

well-known authority, by the remains of his epistolary correspondence,
and by some able papers, the work of his hand — had for some time
shown indications of a delicate constitution. He was the favourite ob-
ject of his father's hopes, earnest wishes, and affections : in him all the
domestic cares, occupations, and every object not involving the welfare
of England and the good of mankind was centred. Mr Burke viewed
his character and promising abilities with all the fond exaggeration of
deep parental love, and laboured to convince the world that his son was
to be a greater man than himself. He had been for several years the
sharer of all his father's thoughts, and consulted by him in every con-
cern of interest. From this, the reader may in some degree estimate
the extent of such an affliction, to a mind like that of Mr Burke.

On vacating his seat, Mr Burke immediately took steps to secure
the return of his son, with whom he proceeded to Malton, where they
obtained the desired success. He also obtained for him the appoint-
ment of secretary to earl Fitzwilliam, on this nobleman being sent to
the government of Ireland. But while he was thus securing, as he
fondly thought, the starting-point of a brilliant career, the sad reality
was mournfully anticipated by his friends. The medical friends who
had been consulted on the delicacy of Richard were fearful of alarm-
ing Mr Burke by any painful disclosure; and his old friend, Dr
Brocklesby, pronounced it as his opinion, that such a disclosure would
prove fatal even more rapidly than his son's disease. Such an opinion
may now serve to illustrate the sense entertained by Mr Burke's dis-
cerning friends, of the depth and force of his affections.

The physicians advised a removal to country air; and Cromwell
house, near Brompton, was taken. There the progress of consumption
became more marked and rapid, and it became necessary to apprize
Mr Burke of the truth. From this moment, until the last, he took no
rest, and little food, but resigned himself to a grief beyond the powers
of nature to endure for many days.

Death to the Christian is surely no calamity; but the bereavement
of human affection is so dreadful and shattering in its effects, and may
be aggravated so much by circumstances, as to offer a contemplation
solemn and awful beyond all powers of language to convey. Nor can
the success of such an effort of description be attended with any better
effect than to shock, and pain the best sympathies of the human breast.
The incidents of the last scenes of Kichard Burke's life are minutely
detailed, and may be read in Mr Prior's Work. They present a narra-
tion of real woe, such as is not easily paralleled among the pages of
fiction, either for the minute and touching incidents, the living truth
with which they convey the scene, or the dignity and interest of the
sufferers.

From the moment of the fatal event, Mr Burke was, as he called
himself, "a desolate old man." A few short extracts from his corre-
spondence, forcibly denote the change. " I am alone — I have none to
meet my enemies in the gate'* — " desolate at home, stripped of my
boast, my hope, my consolation, my helper, my counsellor, and my
pride."

Mr Burke was to have been promoted to the peerage. This event
rendered such a step undesirable. Such honours had lost their charm,

350 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

or if anything, it would have been a cruel aggravation to wear the
empty trappings of this world in the utter desolation of the heart; nor
will good taste regret that the noble name of Edmund Burke has come
down to us unclouded by an empty title.

A few words must be said as to the intrinsic value of one, made
memorable by the love of such a father. It is thought by some that
his merits have been exaggerated by paternal fondness. It cannot be
denied that some reasonable deduction must be made on such natural
grounds ; but Mr Burke's opinion cannot be so wholly set aside as to
avoid the admission, that it must have required no slight attainments,
no ordinary or doubtful gifts, to elicit his admiration. If love is par-
tial, it is also exacting and fastidious; it awakens a jealous anxiety for
the fame of its object, which is quick to anticipate disappointment,
and vigilant in detecting and repaiiing the causes of failure. Such
refinements, too, are congenial to the refining spirit and nice discrimi-
nation of Mr Burke. His judgment cannot go for nothing. Some of
young Burke's papers which have been published in various memoirs
and histories are admitted to be very ably written, even by those who
depreciate the writer. Mr Prior gives at length a character of him,
from the pen of Dr Walter King, bishop of Rochester, who had been
from an early age his friend. It is written with taste, talent, and the
tone of nice and critical discernment, and cannot be set down for a
mere eulogistic effusion, which would much disgrace the sincerity of
the writer. We shall extract a few short paragraphs. " His talents,
whether for business or for speculation, were not exceeded by any which
the present, or perhaps any former age could boast, &c.
The beauty and extent of his erudition was great ; but what distin-
guished him in literature was, the justness, refinement, and accuracy
of his taste.

"In society, his manners were elegant; and the best judges both at
home and abroad thought him one of the best bred men of the age.
He was at the same time rigidly and severely sincere. He was of
moderate stature, but of a beautiful countenance, and an elegant and
graceful figure. He wanted no accomplishment of body or mind."

The writer who has been emphatic in his praise of sincerity was
probably sincere. And several of the foregoing remarks are not
merely opinion, but observation and the allegation of fact. Dr King has
one record here which should not be omitted. " To his father and
mother his affection and assiduity were such as passed all description,
and all examples that the writer of this has ever seen, — here every-
thing of self was annihilated; here he was as perfect as human nature
can admit. At home and in his family he was indeed all in all. He
lived in and for his parents, and he expired in their arms. '

From the moment of this sad event, the colour of life was wholly
changed to his father. It was to him a truly immedicable and rooted
sorrow,

" To which life nothing brighter or darker can bring,
For which joy has no balm, and affliction no sting."

From this time, his intercourse with the ministers became rare — and
although he still took an active interest in public affairs, his exertions

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 351

were mainly confined to the press. He was frequently consulted per-
sonally and by letter, and on such occasions he readily and fully com-
municated his advice. Such was the natural activity of his disposition,
that it would indeed have been impossible for him to recover that
degree of equanimity which every mind, not radically unsound, must
regain by the healing influences of time, without so far at least falling
back into the habit of his whole life: and the incessant industry which
had been the pleasure and inclination of better times, was now the
resource of a mind occupied by painful recollections and shrinking
from the afflicting loneliness of old age.

At this period, the question of Roman Catholic Emancipation
occupied a principal share of the public attention, and was much and
anxiously discussed in both countries. Mr Burke took an active part
in endeavouring to bring the English cabinet to a decision favourable
to the views of Mr Grattan; and had even, through the duke of Port-
land, seemingly effected this purpose. Mr Pitt was himself brought over,
and there can be no fair doubt that, for a short interval, the measure
was fairly contemplated, and means adopted for the purpose of carry-
ing it into effect. But a sudden- change took place in the councils of
government, too violent to admit of doubt as to the fact, though liable
to some differences of construction as to its causes and motives. For
some detail of these particulars, we shall find a more suitable space.
The question is so involved with party passions, that it cannot be
justly introduced in a work not written for any party, without some
important distinctions. It is still more involved in his representa-
tions. But the Irish history of that interval more appropriately
belongs to the lives of those who were more directly concerned in the
politics of Ireland at this period.

A pamphlet at this time written by lord Auckland, and sent by him
to Mr Burke, drew forth a spirited reply, which was drawn up within
two days after receiving the pamphlet. This is his "Fourth Letter on
a Regicide Peace." In the private letter to lord Auckland, acknow-
ledging the compliment, there are some passages which may serve as
illustrating the state of the writer's temper and spirits, at this period
of his life. Lord Auckland had observed, that he and Mr Burke had
long sailed on " different tacks." Mr Burke takes up the metaphor,
" It is true, my lord, what you say, that through our public life, we
have generally sailed on somewhat different tacks. We have so un-
doubtedly, and we should so still, if I had continued to keep the sea.
In that difference you rightly observe, that I have always done justice
to your skill and ability as a navigator, and to your good intentions
towards the cargo and the ship's company. I cannot say now that we
are on different tacks. There would be no propriety in the metaphor.
I can sail no longer ; my vessel cannot be said to be even in port ; she
is wholly condemned and broken up. To have an idea of that vessel,
you must call to mind what you have often seen on the Kentish road.
Those planks of tough and hardy oak that used for years to brave the
buffets of the Bay of Biscay, are now turned with their waspish grain
and empty trunnion holes, into very wretched pales for the enclosure
of a wretched farmyard." Further on he writes: " I find, my dear
lord, that you think some persons who are not satisfied with the secu-

352 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

rities of a Jacobin peace, to be persons of intemperate minds. I may
be, and I fear I am, with you, in that description; but pray, my lord,
recollect that very few of the causes that make men intemperate can
operate upon me. Sanguine hopes, vehement desires, inordinate am-
bition, implacable animosity, party attachments, or party interests; all
these with me have no existence. For myself, or a family, (alas! I
have none,) I have nothing to hope or fear in this world. I am
attached by principle, inclination, and gratitude, to the king, and to
the present ministry."

" Perhaps you may think that my animosity to opposition is the
cause of my dissent on seeing the politics of Mr Fox, (which while I
was in the world, I combatted by every instrument which God had
put into my hands, and in every situation in which I had taken part,)
so completely adopted in your lordship's book; but it was with pain I
broke with that great man for ever in that cause — and I assure you,
it is not without pain that I differ with your lordship in the same
principles. But it is of no concern. I am far below the region of
those great and tempestuous passions. I feel nothing of the intem-
perance of mind. It is rather sorrow and dejection than anger."
The whole letter may be found in Mr Prior's volume.

The anecdotes which remain of this period of Mr Burke's life are
too numerous for a memoir, prolonged far beyond our due bounds.
Most of the illustrious men of the following generation have retained
and left valuable and impressive recollections. The most brief and
casual intercourse with Mr Burke left some striking memento of
goodness and wisdom, and a volume of such could easily be compiled.

In 1795, and 1796, there was a severe pressure of distress, owing
to a scarcity of corn. Mr Burke erected a mill, and retailed corn at
a reduced rate, and of course at no slight sacrifice of means, and thus
diffused relief among the surrounding poor.

In the same year, pensions to the amount of £3,700 a-year were
granted by the government to Mr Burke. This grant was creditable
in the highest degree to the king and his ministers; it was entirely
unsought and unexpected, and plainly uninfluenced by any expectation
of future services. Mr Burke was now retired from public life, and
seemingly from all further exertion. His broken frame, disordered
nervous system, and spirits at the same time restless and dejected, ap-
peared to forebode the near approach of death ; or if not, of intellectual
decay. Already his friends had become alarmed by rumours of insane
symptoms ; and his enemies, through whom these rumours received
their currency and shape, were preparing to trample in cowardly
security on the remains of the dead lion, the scourge of charlatanism,
and the defender of the state. Never had the reward of public ser-
vice been more honourably deserved or bestowed : the triumphs of Tra-
falgar, or the crowning glories of Waterloo, were not intrinsically
more decisive or beneficial in result, than those able, laborious, and
persevering exertions of pen and tongue, which, under the mercy of
Providence, arrested and repelled from the shores of Britain, the
furious waves of infidelity, anarchy, and civil ruin.

But there was a faction which had concentrated its entire energies
in the cause of democracy, and of which the whole ambition and all the

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 353

criminal passions, (deepening and blackening downward from the
leader, who looked for power, to the lowest follower, who looked for
plunder and revenge,) all its ends were connected with, or tended to
a treasonable union together with the hellhounds of Parisian re-
volt— rebels against God and man. By these Mr Burke's departure
from the party which they had degraded, was deeply resented — the
writing which had exposed them to England, and frustrated their de-
signs still more. They had triumphed in his afflictions, and looked
with the malice of fiends on the supposed prostration of his noble
powers. The well-earned reward of these services roused them to
fury. Immediately, a storm of the missiles of an abandoned fac-
tion, of which the perusal disgusts and lacerates the moral sense
and taste — was converged from all the low and base dens and lurking-
holes of party malice on his devoted head. The duke of Bedford,
and lord Lauderdale, attacked him in parliament : they had no
cause to pride themselves on the result. The attack drew forth an
able, manly, and crushing reply from lord Grenville. Nor was the
usual promptitude of Mr Burke's pen wanting. It was evidently fit
that he should justify the government, and thus it became in a measure
necessary, that he should vindicate his own claims upon the gratitude
of his country — in the execution of this duty, the exposure of his dis-
comfited assailants was no less essentially involved. His own defence,
was thus another fatal shaft aimed by the same strong hand, for the
dispersion and dismay of his opponents — while it remains a historical
record and monument of the great struggle of that day between
anarchy and order. In either respect, as well as for the remark-
able proof it offers of unabated power of reasoning, of statement, of
masterly defence, and of paralyzing and withering irony ; we can
recommend it to our readers as the best justification and corroboration
of the views strongly asserted in our memoir. We cannot even ab-
stract it here ; but a few extracts may be acceptable : — " To be ill
spoken of, in whatever language they speak, by the zealots of the new
sect in philosophy and politics, of which these noble persons think so
charitably, and of which others think so justly, to me is no matter of
uneasiness or surprise. To have incurred the displeasure of the duke
of Orleans, or the duke of Bedford; to fall under the censure of
citizen Brissot, or of his friend, the earl of Lauderdale ; I ought to
consider as proofs, not the least satisfactory, that I have produced
some of the effect I proposed by my endeavours. I have laboured
hard to earn, what the noble lords are generous enough to pay. Per-
sonal offence I have given them none. The part they take against
me is from zeal to the cause. It is well! it is perfectly well! I
have to do homage to their justice. I have to thank the Bed-
fords and the Lauderdales, for having so fully acquitted towards me
whatever arrear of debt was left undischarged by the Priestleys and
the Paines." In this easy and flowing commencement, there is much
art, as well as elegance; nothing could more strikingly at that time
illustrate the real merits of Mr Burke, than the simple fact, that both
in Paris and in England, he was then, and had for some time been, the
general object of a degree of vituperation, that evidenced the effects
he had produced. Nor is it less to be remarked, that in thus putting

VOL. V. Z

354 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU

forward this unanswerable point, he contrives to hitch bis immediate
antagonist into a most disgraceful and disparaging position. — Having
suitably noticed lord Grenville's noble stand in his behalf: " Retired as I
am from the world, and from all its affairs and all its pleasures, I confess
it does kindle, in my nearly extinguished feelings, a very vivid satis-
faction to be so attached and so commended." Alluding directly to his
pension, he says, " In one thing I can excuse the duke of Bedford for
his attack upon me, and my mortuary pension. He cannot readily
comprehend the transaction he condemns. What I have obtained was
the fruit of no bargain; the production of no intrigue; the result of
no compromise; the effect of no solicitation. The first suggestion of
it never came from me, mediately or immediately, to his majesty, or
any of his ministers. It was long known that the instant my engage-
ments would permit it, and before the heaviest of all calamities had for
ever condemned me to obscurity and sorrow, I had resolved on a total
retreat. I had executed that design. I was entirely out of the way of
serving or of hurting any statesman, or any party, when the ministers
so generously and so nobly carried into effect the spontaneous bounty
of the crown. Both descriptions have acted as became them. When
I could no longer serve them, the ministers have considered my situ-
ation. When I could no longer hurt them, the revolutionists have
trampled on my infirmity. My gratitude, I trust, is equal to the benefit
conferred". It came to me indeed at a time of life, and in a state of
mind and body, in which no circumstance of fortune could afford me
any pleasure. But this was no fault in the royal donor, or in his
ministers, who were pleased, in acknowledging the merits of an
invalid servant of the public, to assuage the sorrows of a desolate
old man."

Mr Burke enters into a brief and forcible statement of his princi-
pal services, in which he proves the great labour they cost. Talking
of the pay-office act, he says, " the first of these systems cost me,
•with every assistance which my then situation gave me, pains incredi-
ble. I found an opinion common through all the offices, and general
in the public at large, that it would prove impossible to reform and
methodize the office of paymaster-general. I undertook it, however,
and I succeeded in my undertaking. Whether the military service, or
whether the general economy of the finances have profited by that act,
I leave to those who are acquainted with the army, and with the
treasury, to judge." He then similarly vindicates the establishment
bill; and proceeds with great felicity of illustration, to show the im-
portance of these changes, and the critical character of the time when
they were introduced. " Astronomers," he says, " have supposed that
if a certain comet whose path intersected the ecliptic, had met the
earth in some (I forget what,) sign,* it would have whirled us along

* This is the incident by which Whrston attempted to explain the deluge.
But from the smallness of that particular comet, its entire want of solidity, and
also from the actual nature of the luminous vapour of which it is now thought to
be mainly composed, there is no great likelihood in either notion. Had the earth
been but one month in advance of its actual place in 1832, the consequence would
have been experimentally ascertained ; as Biela's comet at that period actually
passed across its orbit.

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 355

with it, in its eccentric course into God knows what regions of heat
and cold. Had the portentous comet of the ' rights of man' which

' From its horrid hair shakes pestilence of war ;'
and,*

' with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs.'

Had that comet crossed upon us in that internal state of England,
nothing human could have prevented our being irresistibly hurried
out of the highway of heaven, into all the vices, crimes, horrors, and
miseries, of the French Revolution."

His observations on the question of parliamentary reform have an
historical value, and are otherwise remarkable as they exemplify the
force of thought and language, which he still retained when the world
thought him broken in mind and frame. Speaking of the projects of
the reformers of that premature time, he says, " had they taken place,
not France, but England would have had the honour of leading up the
death-dance of democratic revolution,'' — a fact of which the truth is
nearly demonstrable. His sketch of lord North is one of those un-
equalled portraitures which he alone could draw. It has a special value ;
for it is from the hand of an adversary. " I do not mean to speak dis-
respectfully of lord North. He was a man of admirable parts; of
general knowledge; of a versatile understanding, fitted for eve^y sort
of business; of infinite wijt and pleasantry ; of a delightful temper; and
with a mind most perfectly disinterested. But it would be only to
degrade myself by a weak adulation, and not to honour the memory of
a great man, to deny that he wanted something of the vigilance, and
a spirit of command, that the time required. Indeed, a darkness next
to the fog of this awful day lowered over the whole region. For a
little time the helm appeared abandoned —

" Ipse diem nocteraque negat discernere coelo,
Nee meminisse vire media Palinurus in unda."

Having fully described the emergencies of that time, Mr Burke next
proceeded to state, what was then well known, that he had himself been
possessed of great public weight; in fact he was at that time all that is
now understood as leader of the opposition, with advantages in himself
and in his party rarely belonging to this character. He then directly
adverts to his conduct, " at the time I speak of and having a momentary
lead, so aided and so encouraged, as a feeble instrument in a mighty
hand — I do not say I saved my country ; I am sure I did my country
important service. There were few indeed who did not at that time
acknowledge it, and that time was thirteen years ago. It was but one
voice, that no man in the kingdom better deserved an honourable pro-
vision should be made for him,"

* The above quotation curiously indicates the elective range of Mr Burke's
fancy, as well as his masterly command of Milton's great epic. Ho has brought
together the appropriate passages from two similitudes in two different books of
the Paradise Lost, — the comet in the first, and the eclipse in the second ; both,
how strikingly to the purpose !

356 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

But we had not intended to proceed so far into the contents of one
of the most conclusive, eloquent, and instructive papers we can recol-
lect to have read; and of which there is no paragraph, and not many
sentences which do not offer something which one is reluctant to
omit. Having fully and at some length explained his views of reform
and vindicated his own measures — he turns on his antagonist, and iu
the language of courtesy he treats him to a most blighting exposure
of his own comparative intrinsic insignificance in a brief historic
sketch, which there would now be no propriety in recalling. The
other antagonist of Mr Burke, lord Lauderdale, a statesman of larger
calibre than the Duke, lived to do justice to the foresight and wisdom
of Mr Burke ; the following extract from one of his speeches, is one
of our numerous obligations to Mr Prior. " He (Mr Burke) was the
only man in the country whose powers were equal to the forming and
accomplishing so systematic and able a plan of reform ; not a mean,
narrow, wretched system of retrenchment, breaking in upon the dig-
nity of the crown and the honour of the nation; but a great and
beautiful arrangement of office, calculated not to degrade a govern-
ment, but to exalt and adorn it."

There were indeed about the period to which we are now arrived,
and during the remainder of the same generation, many equal or still
more remarkable concessions of the same character, to the superior
insight of Mr Burke. As time slowly withdrew the obscurity of the
future, which baffled the penetration of other men, the close successive
fulfilments of his forewarnings too distinct and uniform to be casual,
could not fail to excite attention and elicit a tardy justice from the
most reluctant and obstinate of his adversaries. Mr Fox repeatedly
expressed his wonder, and when some servile follower of his party said
that Mr Burke's opinions would be looked on by posterity as the
ravings of a brilliant lunatic, Mr Fox answered that " whether insane
or inspired, fate seemed determined to make him an uncommon
political prophet." Assuredly volumes could not go much further to
establish Mr Burke's wisdom ; or the true contrast between him and
his popular rival.

Mr Burke was in fact, one of the immortal few in whom the
character of the true philosopher was realized; not a projector of
speculative notions resting on gratuitous assumptions, and despising
the realities of actual existence ; quick and large observations were in
him the support of just, clear, and cautious reason. He was perhaps
the first and last great master of a true political science, and was thus
enabled to perceive as sure consequences, what others, blind to the
casual chain, could only look on as chance.* But now that the long

* While this page was going through the press, we have happened to light upon
the following valuable testimony from Mr Hallam. In his estimate of the mind
of lord Bacon, having enumerated all the most distinguished historians, philoso-
phers and statesmen, who preceded Bacon, he observes of him, " we shall I think
find that one man may almost be compared with all of these together. When
Galileo is named as equal to Bacon, it is to be remembered that Galileo was no
moral or political philosopher, and, in this department, Leibnitz certainly falls very
short of Bacon. Burke, perhaps, comes, of all modern writers, the nearest to him ;
but though Bacon may not be more profound than Burke, lie is more copious and
comprehensive."

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 357

succession of events, thus so clearly stamped as genuine materials for
a more rational science than seems to be generally cultivated by public
men, is thus nearly run to its end; we cannot help earnestly desiring
that some statesman-like understanding were employed in the analysis
of such materials, and in the systematic structure of real science which
would arise to put some end to the shallow and unprincipled views of
an age that is not grown wise by much and sore experience. The
causes now in operation are too pervading and energetic for the hand
of human power to stay ; the working of the social system is hourly
more and more assuming the uncontrollable force of a great operation
of human nature ; the completion, probably, of the design of that su-
preme will from which its energies are derived, and its moral forces
directed to a determinate end. But it would be consoling both in
many trials and many dangers, to see our rulers percipient of their
course and destination, and of the true extent, limits, and agencies
according to which their duties ought to be governed. Whatever
may be the event of human progress, there is always a mighty sum of
casualties of good and evil, which have been placed under the control
of human virtue and wisdom, by Him who has made man a responsible
being, and by whose law duties are prescribed; and though the future
may be quite unaffected by human conduct, the present is thus within
the range of its influences. But the scheme of instrumentality which con-
nects the present with the future, is precisely the object of that science,
from which alone the shoals, currents, and concealed reefs of the course
can be with any precision foreseen and guarded. Nor is it to our
rulers only that this knowledge is desirable; it would infuse a spirit of
prudence and moderation where it is most of all wanted — in the aim-
less and disorderly sea of public passion — a mighty force, like the
blind forces of physical nature, working to certain ends, unconsciously;
but unlike them subject to the moral disorders which make their pro-
gress wild, irregular, and tempestuous. But we are rocking on a wide
sea, full of untried courses, and not to be entered upon without many
and far excursions, for most of which the life of Mr Burke offers the
true point of departure.

Mr Burke's retirement, to the latest day of his life, was devoted still
with the same unremitting devotion to the public good, to the
study of agriculture, and a sound and practical political economy, as
applicable to its only true objects, the distribution of the greatest share
of good to the entire community. Much of his time was occupied in
the superintendence of the emigrant school in his neighbourhood,
which the government had instituted on his solicitation. He had
entirely ceased to leave home, or willingly to receive any new acquain-
tance; his domestic circle consisted of his wife and cousin William
Burke, all in a measure invalids. His frequent visitor was Mr Wind-
ham, through whom it is probable he was consulted by the ministers.
His own account of his condition at the time is contained in a letter
to Mr Gahagan. " Alas ! my dear friend, I am not what I was two
years ago; society is too much for my nerves. I sleep ill at night;
and am drowsy and sleep much in the day. Every exertion of spirits
which I make for the society I cannot refuse costs me much, and
leaves me doubly heavy and dejected after it."

358 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

And yet it was in this state of seemingly utter exhaustion of mind
and body, that he wrote one of the most powerful and masterly pro-
ductions of his pen; the " Thoughts on a Kegicide Peace," — a work
which produced an immediate and decisive effect upon the public mind,
and astonished both friends and opponents. Among the numerous re-
plies which it drew forth, one published in the Monthly Review by Sir
James Mackintosh, affords a most eloquent and worthy tribute of praise,
which cannot with propriety be omitted. " Such is an outline of this
publication, of which if it be considered merely as a work of literature,
it might be sufficient to say, that it is scarcely surpassed in excellence
by any of the happiest productions of the best days of its author. The
same vast reach and comprehension of view — the same unbounded
variety of allusion, illustration and ornament, drawn from every pro-
vince of nature and of science — the same unrivalled mastery over
language — the same versatility of imagination, which at will transforms
itself from sublime and terrific genius into gay and playful fancy —
the same happy power of relieving the harshness of political dispute
by beautiful effusions of sentiment, and of dignifying composition by
grave and lofty maxims of moral and civil wisdom — the same inex-
haustible ingenuity of presenting even common ideas under new and
fascinating shapes — the same unlimited sway over the human passions,
which fills us at his pleasure with indignation, with horror or with
pity; and which equally commands our laughter or our tears; in a
word, the same wit, humour, pathos, invention, force, dignity, copious-
ness and magnificence, are conspicuous in this production which will
immortalize the other writings of Mr Burke. There is nothing ordi-
nary in his view of a subject. He is, perhaps, of all writers the one of
•whom it may be said with the most strict truth, that no idea appears
hackneyed in his hands; no topic seems commonplace when he treats
it. When the subject must (from the very narrowness of human con-
ception which bounds even the very genius of Mr Burke,) be borrowed,
the turn of thought, and the manner of presenting it, are his own.
The attitude and drapery are peculiar to the master."

This work has attached to it the melancholy interest of having
been his last; interrupted by the hand of death. It is a sufficient in-
dication of a fact, which is confirmed by numerous interesting anec-
dotes, that his intellect burnt bright and clear to the last. To the
very latest moment his breast was glowing with the noblest, as
well as the most endearing sentiments of humanity; communicating
a delight, sadly tempered with sorrow, to all who approached him.
And none approached without being instructed, softened, and im-
pressed. He was engaged in the printing of his third letter, when he
was interrupted by the summons from a life of labour; realizing the
presentiment under which he seems to have begun ; " What I say I must
say at once. WThatever I write is in its nature testamentary; it may
have the weakness, but it has the sincerity of a dying declaration.'1
Such it turned out to be. In this last bequest of wisdom, he emphati-
cally pronounced an opinion yet at the time unanticipated, that the
war would be of long duration. " I speak emphatically, and I desire
that it should be marked, in a long war." Of this he indeed offers no
vague proofs drawn from political theory, but at some length states

PERIOD.] EDMUND BURKE. 359

the grounds of his opinion, derived from a careful and comprehensive
study of the history of Europe ; from the precedent of former wars
with a sagacious analysis and comparison of their causes. Such was
the real source of that wonderful forecast, which seemed to hold up
the remote succession of the future to his glance.

During the interval in which these letters were composed, Mr
Burke's health was rapidly sinking. But though it is from many in-
cidental circumstances rendered apparent that he was aware of the
probable result, he manifested no wreak attachment to life and no
unmanly fear. Resting with the fullest confidence in the hopes of
the gospel — which was his daily study and consolation — he dis-
missed all unworthy apprehensions of the approaching change, and
stood firm and unflinching to the last day of his life, in the strenuous
discharge of the great duty for which Providence had endowed him
with its abundant and overflowing gifts. Among his domestic
circle he was the same kind, indulgent, and affectionate friend as ever;
forgetful of himself and his infirmities, when he could administer to
the wants, or contribute to the happiness of others. Happily for him-
self and the affectionate friends who attended his last illness, these
bright and beautiful indications of the Christian spirit in a mind of the
highest order, were unimpaired by bodily pain; his chief uneasiness
arose from his reluctance to give trouble even to his servants, so thor-
oughly was he free from selfishness, and consistent in benevolence to
the last. His servants who were devotedly attached to their master —
friends, by whom deathbed scenes are not often sought — vied with each
other for the post of trouble and anxiety, and pressed their service as
his nightly attendants.

On Friday, July 7th, being conscious of his approaching end, he set
himself to review the conduct of his past life, of which during the
early part of the day, he entered upon an outline stating his principal
public acts, with their motives and attendant circumstances; vindi-
cated his intentions, and regretted the pain he might have on some
occasions given by any unguarded petulance of manner or severity of
rebuke — leaving it as an earnest assurance that he never designed
to give offence. After this he gave his mind to the consolations of
religion. He strongly and frequently repeated his full reliance on
the sacrifice and advocacy of the Redeemer. Among other state-
ments on the subject, he expressed his veneration for all sincere and
zealous followers of Christ, to whatever church or sect they might
belong, but that he himself considered the Articles of the Church of
England to be the purest, and most in accordance with the standard of
Scripture. The following morning was given to those devotional
exercises suited to the awful and solemn change which was at hand;
after which he conversed with composure and the most serene and
unaffected cheerfulness with a young friend. Feeling weariness, he
expressed a desire to be carried into another room. As Mr Nagle,
with some of his servants, were bearing him in their arms, he faintly
exclaimed " God bless you," and his high and noble spirit was released
from its worn-out frame, on Saturday, July 8th, 1797.

On the 15th, his remains were interred in Beaconsfield church,
near those of his beloved son. Mr Fox had in the interval proposed

360 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFiH

a public funeral in Westminster Abbey. The Abbey never indeed
had been, or will be honoured with a nobler memory, or the records
of England with a more venerable name, to the last syllable of recorded
time.

But the deep affections of his life decided and consecrated the tomb
of this truly illustrious man, of whom the following extract from his
will is no unworthy memorial. " First, according to ancient, good,
and laudable custom, of which my heart and understanding recognise
the propriety, I bequeath my soul to God, hoping for his mercy
through the only merits of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. My
body I desire, if I should die in any place very convenient for its trans-
port thither (but not otherwise,) to be buried in the church at Beacons-
field, near to the bodies of my dearest brother, and my dearest son, in
all humility praying that, as we have lived in perfect unity together,
we may together have a part in the resurrection of the just."

He further desired in the same solemn and affecting strain of
language to have no needless expense or pomp.

His funeral was nevertheless attended by the great, the powerful,
and the good. One so justly respected by all, and venerated by the
best, could not be allowed to disappear like a passing cloud from the
scene. The pall was borne by the lord chancellor; dukes of Devon-
shire and Portland; earl Fitzwilliam; the Speaker of the house of com-
mons; earl of Inchiquin; right hon. Mr Windham, and Sir Gilbert
Elliot; his remains were followed by a numerous train of the noblest of
every party ; and by the members of the several charitable institutions,
which had been mainly upheld through his care and liberality. The
principal of these was the emigrant school at Pen. Instituted by his
desire, and mainly superintended by himself, he recommended it in his
will to the protection of the government.

The anecdotes which remain of Mr Burke would of themselves fill
an interesting volume; for no man of his day was so much the object
of curious interest among persons of talent and learning. But this
abundance has itself been the reason for their general omission in this
memoir. Having been compelled, from a consideration of that main
part of our duty which consists in justice to the fame of public men,
to devote our care to a few main questions, on which the record of
Edmund Burke must stand in history, we trust that no apology can be
thought needful for omitting much that must have at least extended
this memoir to double its present length. Should any reader judge
that even so far we have too much exceeded bounds, we shall only say
that it is the last trespass of the same kind we shall commit.

In person, Mr Burke was about five feet ten — his figure was athletic
and symmetrical; he was in his younger days fond of exercise and
expert at the sledge, stone, leaping, and other such trials of strength
and agility. Many speak of his appearance as graceful and dignified ;
and some of his female describers, who must be allowed the best judges,
describe his countenance as handsome, noble, and prepossessing.

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 361

©rattan*

BORN A.D. 1746 — DIED A.D. 1820.

THE name of Grattan begins early to occur in the annals of Irish
biography. It will be remembered by those who are familiar with the
personal history of Swift. Patrick Grattan was a senior fellow in the
Dublin University. He left several children; one of whom, Henry,
the eldest, succeeded to the family property. He had a son, James,
who married a Miss Marley, daughter to chief-justice Marley. This per-
son was recorder of the city of Dublin for many years, and had the repu-
tation of being a good lawyer and an honest man. From these parents
was born Henry, the truly illustrious subject of the present memoir.

Henry Grattan was born on the 3d July, 1746. He was early sent
to school at Mr Ball's in Great Ship street. At the same school was
also educated Mr Fitzgibbon, afterwards lord chancellor of Ireland.
How long he continued at this school we have no authority to say;
but he was removed from it to a school in Abbey street in consequence
of a most brutal and unwarrantable insult from the master. At this
new school his conduct was such as to win the general respect of his
schoolfellows.

In 1763, when he had attained his seventeenth year, he was attacked
by a severe illness, which harassed him for a long time. In the same
year he entered the university of Dublin. Here he obtained the
highest honours of the collegiate course. He also, during the same
interval, contracted intimacies with several eminent men, who were
then his fellow-students. Among these were some with whom his
subsequent intercourse was that of the most close and attached friend-
ship — a sentiment deeply infused in his nature. The most agreeable
and authentic materials for the description of his early life, and the
formation of his character, are to be found in his epistolary correspon-
dence with these friends. Much of this correspondence is happily
extant, and will be found to occupy a considerable portion of the ample
and detailed history of his life by his son, of which four volumes are
in the hands of the public.

From these letters, we are enabled to trace with singular distinct-
ness the primary constitution and the progress of Mr Grattan's charac-
ter, both moral and intellectual. They indicate a mind, of which
the earlier features seem rather to belong to literary retreat than to
public life. Deep sensibility both to the ties of the heart and the
attractions of external nature seems to govern his conduct; retiring,
fastidious, refined, and imaginative, he offers all the moral traits from
which a devoted worship of some favourite muse might have been
anticipated. But the choice of a profession then eminently connected
with public life, and an evidently eager taste for the discussion of
public questions, his constant attendance upon, and sometimes admir-
able reports of, the debates of the English house of commons, marked
more truly the direction of his future course.

A morbid tone had perhaps been imparted to his feelings by the
circumstances in which it was his misfortune to be early placed.

3G2 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Mr Grattan's life was early clouded by unhappiness arising from the
unkindness of his father. This gentleman's discontent with his son
seems attributable to a difference of political opinion. The tendencies
of their politics were in fact diametrically opposite, and this at that
period, and especially in Ireland, was a species of dissent hardly con-
sistent with goodwill. To what extent the demonstrations of such a
fatal interruption to the harmony which ought to subsist in so near a
relation were carried, we have no means of judging. The father was
a hard and austere man, and perhaps rendered habitually acrimonious
by the long influence of place and political intercourse. By nature
keenly alive to impressions of sentiment, and overflowing with those
impassioned instincts, yearnings, and affections, which always belong to
men of his highwrought mould of genius and enthusiasm, and to a tem-
perament eminently poetic, the son felt deeply the alienation of his
father's affections. He loved his father's person, and respected his
talents, and had not yet learned the lesson of Irish party, to look at
men through the sole medium of political opinion.

Having completed his academic terms, Mr Grattan next turned his
mind to the choice of a profession. The consciousness of talent of a high
order — the ambition of a young and ardent mind — the strong politi-
cal aspirations already beginning to possess his faculties, and, perhaps,
above all, the taste essentially rhetorical — all must have combined to
point the way to the bar, then the high road to political and even
social importance in Ireland. Accordingly, his letters indicate such a
determination in 1767.

We ascertain, from his early letters to Mr Broome, that his father
must have died in the summer of 1766, when Grattan was in his
twentieth year. In a letter, dated June in this year, and written from
Bellcamp, which we presume to be the paternal mansion, he writes as
follows : — " The death of my father I suppose you have heard of. In
the greatest agony of body, in the greatest distraction of mind, unex-
pectedly and impatiently, he expired. I am determined, on the first
occasion, to retire with you to some country lodging," &c. Further
on, he proceeds, " I write this letter from Bellcamp, where I have
been these three days without any of the family, and where I intend
to continue some days longer in the same solitude. I employ my-
self writing, reading, and coui'ting the muse, and taking leave of that
place where I am a guest, not an owner, and of which I shall now
cease to be a spectator. I tell myself, by way of consolation, that
happiness is not the gift of any one spot, however ancient and native
. — ' est ulubris, animus si te non deficit cequus;' and that wherever
I go the muse and your friendship shall accompany me. Perhaps
the time may come when fortune '•patre yalentior,' may smile upon
me, and shall enable my old age to resign my breath where first I re-
ceived it. Farewell ! — 'tis too late to continue this epistle ; I am invited
to the wood by the wood-quest, the thrush, and every circumstance
that attends the evening. I shall walk there for an hour, borrow aid
from imagination, and return preferring the solitude of my situation
to the sport, the bustle, or even the opulence of that of my acquaint-
ance. Yours ever, H. GRATTAN."

It appears from one of his letters, dated 1767, that at this period

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 363

he was much in the habit of reading the writings of Bolingbroke,
whom he admired as a reasoner and orator. The same letter affords
a remarkable indication of that noble and disinterested tone of gener-
ous sentiment, which seems to have been the characteristic of his
moral constitution, easily traced in all the acts of his life. It seems
that his friend Broome, to whom the letter is addressed, was at the
time looking for the means to obtain a commission in the army, and
had expressed his anxiety on the subject to Mr Grattan. The following
was the reply : " To lend the money is not the least inconvenient to me ;
on the contrary, your application to any one else for the sum I could
supply, I should have esteemed an injury to me. You may depend
on having it before the time you have limited."

Mr Grattan's time was earnestly devoted to the studies which were
to fit him for the strenuous and splendid course he was destined to
pursue. If in his correspondence great traces of languor, and the list-
less tone of idleness is often to be detected, it was but the effect of
intense and ardent labour, displayed in the intervals of fatigue. His
favourite amusements bespoke the mind strung to a high calling :
the galleries of the house of commons, and the bar of the lords were
his chosen haunts. He had the advantage of listening to the splendid
orators of that day, when oratory had, in the persons of Chatham,
Burke, and a few other eminent persons, reached the maximum of its
power and splendour in modern times. As the reader may well con-
jecture, his favourite was Chatham, whose style is signalized by that
specious power of representation and splendour of pointed phrase,
which were afterwards the evident study and main weapons of Mr
Grattan himself. From the same source he also drew ideas of the
effect of manner and expressive delivery. The strong impression
which he at this time received, is imbodied in the character which he
afterwards drew of that great orator and statesman.

It was with regret that we have traced in some of his letters the
evidences of the strong and fatal influence of that false philosophy
which then was beginning to prevail, and which found no sufficient resis-
tance in the relaxed state of religion. The powers of Mr Grattan's mind
were those of strong sagacity, profound observation, a high moral
sense, a brilliant fancy and its consequence, a ready and original taste
for the combinations of language. But his mind was not endowed for
philosophic investigation. There is not in his productions any indica-
tion either of the patient and self-directed scrutiny of contemplation, on
which metaphysical research is grounded, or of the severe, scrupulous,
and persevering logical deduction on which it must proceed. His
powers, and the intellectual structure of his mind, were of an opposite
and far more useful, as well as popular order. He was little likely to
be imposed upon by the outward seemings of the world, or the pro-
fessions of the men. But moral sophisms, and the plausibilities of the
shallow but specious literature then called philosophy, maintained by
popular names, by the manners of the age, and assimilated to a merely
nominal condition of Christianity, could hardly fail to warp the fancy
of a youthful student of Bolingbroke. To these remarks it may be
right to add, that in the brilliant circle of Irish society in which Mr
Grattan's younger days were much spent, there prevailed the very

POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

lowest tone of morals, and nearly a total absence of religion. In
truth, the religion of the upper classes in that day of polished bar-
barism in Ireland was no other than the point of honour, — a rule
•which, while it nicely and strictly defines many of those moralities
essential to private life, and for the maintenance of a low civilization,
leaves untouched those vices to which it was addicted. Happily Mr
Grattan was not one to be carried far by the cold frostwork fetters of
the infidel philosophy ; which is more shallow and flimsy than it is
even specious, and must be quite incapable of casting a permanent
hold over the clear vigorous faculties of such a mind.

His companion in the temple was Mr Day, who held rooms in partner-
ship with him for three years. From a letter, long after addressed
by this venerable person to Mr Grattan's son, some interesting de-
tails are to be obtained. " We lived," writes Mr Day, " in the same
chambers in the middle temple, and took a house in Windsor forest,
commanding a beautiful landscape ; he delighted in romantic scenery.
Between both, we lived together three or four years, the happiest
period of my life." Another passage mentions, " When we resided
in Windsor forest, he would spend whole moonlight nights rambling
and losing himself in the thickest plantations ; he would sometimes
pause and address a tree in soliloquy, thus preparing himself early for
that assembly which he was destined in latter life to adorn. One
morning he amused us at breakfast, with an adventure of the night
before, in the forest. In one of those midnight rambles, he stopped
at a gibbet and commenced apostrophizing the chains in his usual
animated strain, when he suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder, and on
turning about was accosted by an unknown person — ' how the devil
did you get down ?' To which the rambler calmly replied — ' Sir, I
suppose you have an interest in that question !' " Such incidents often
occur to the invention, and without any purpose of deception are told
as pleasant stories ; this we believe to be the common origin of nine-
tenths of the adventures of the witty part of mankind. But in the
present instance, the tale is highly characteristic of the teller. We
are told that Mr Grattan's habits at this interval of his life were so
eccentric, as to convey to his landlady some suspicions of his being
deranged. " She complained to one of his friends, that the gentle-
man used to walk up and down in his garden most of the night,
speaking to himself; and though alone, he was addressing some one
on all occasions by the name of ' Mr Speaker, &c.' "

At the temple he first became acquainted with Dr Duigenan. And
in the course of their conversation, they fell into a warm disputation,
in which the politics and characters of either were strongly displayed.
The incidents are mentioned by Judge Day who was present and tells
the story; the end is curious enough. Having been violently excited,
"they parted, and in the evening Grattan came to the Grecian,
where we used to meet, with a long sword by his side. Duigenan
did not make his appearance, but he wrote a poem criticising Grattan's
figure with his long sword. It was comical ; I showed it to your
father, who was amused by the humorous turn, and so the affair
ended." To this incident the subsequent animosity of Dr Duigenan
against Mr Grattan, is traced by the narrator.

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 365

In the same year, Mr Grattan had the misfortune to lose a sister
whom he affectionately loved; by the tenor of his correspondence, the
loss can be inferred to have made the most painful impressions on his
deep and somewhat morbid affections.

From the same letters, we are enabled to trace the formation of his
peculiar style of oratory, with a distinctness seldom to be attained
in such criticism. His ear was caught by the love of that antithetic
balance of diction, and that epigrammatic cast of expression, which was
the prominent character of his style. It may be, and we believe has
been said, that in him this was simply the result of his peculiar char-
acter of intellect, as being the aptest vehicle for his condensed
remark and epigrammatic vein. And, in a manner this is highly
probable : the taste must have some determining motive, and none is
so likely as that of strong adaptation. But it is curious to remark
the deliberate adoption of such a method before the tone and spirit of
his thoughts appear to demand such a vehicle. In every page of
these letters, we find the curiously elaborate music of antithesis and
point, without any very decided approach to an appropriate relation
in the sense ; as if he had already conceived the idea of a style, of
which he as yet but succeeded generally in the structure — while at
the same time, there is in most of those instances, some greater or
less indication to mark the intent and conception of a style. We can
afford but one example. " Lord North, the chancellor of the ex-
chequer, a man busied in state mystery, and learned in finances,
spoke in defence of the court, in a manner impetuous, not rapid;
full of cant not melody ; and deserved the eulogium of a fervent
speaker, not a great one. Grenville, on the part of the opposition,
was peevish and wrangling, and provoked those whom he could not
defeat." His opinions of books which he expresses with much pre-
cision, mostly display much tact and a judgment which was rapidly
attaining its maturity.

In 1768, he was deprived of his mother, for whom he entertained
the deepest affection. Her death was too sudden to allow of the dis-
position of a reversion of property which she possessed, and had in-
tended to make in his favour. In consequence of which, it passed to
a distant relation.

A more happy event in his family occurred in the same year, when
his eldest sister married Mr Gervase Parker Bushe of Kilfane, in the
county of Kilkenny. This incident had in some respects a favourable
influence on the tenor of his early years, as it placed him at once in a
circle which was then, has been ever since, and is indeed still, the most
refined and agreeable in Ireland, both on account of the wit, talent,
and cultivated taste, which perhaps by fortunate coincidence was
concentrated within it, and for the high social polish which generally
prevailed. Mr Flood, Mr Langrishe, with Mr Bushe, formed the
nucleus of this circle; of which Mr Grattan himself was thence-
forward to be a conspicuous ornament. We shall have a further occa-
sion to offer more copious details of this interesting locality, and its
inhabitants.*

* It is with every sentiment of deep regret and sorrow we hare to announce to
our readers, that another truly honourable and illustrious name, dear to every friend

366 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

lu the society to which he was thus introduced, Mr Grattan's genius
received fresh incentives. His acquaintance with Mr Flood, produc-
tive of lively satisfaction to both, contributed much to his improve-
ment, and gave perhaps a determinate impulse to the taste for political
life, which he had already contracted. With Mr Flood, he now pur-
sued his favourite studies with fresh ardour, — as we are told by his
sou, " they wrote — they argued — they debated together."

Of the private theatricals, we have already taken some notice, and
promised more. Their history belongs to a further division of this
work. In these Mr Grattan took a considerable part. He was an
admirer and a habitual frequenter of the stage — from which he may
be presumed to have drawn much of his peculiar love of action and
effect. On one occasion, when Milton's Comus was acted at Marley,
the seat of Mr Latouche, the epilogue was from Mr Grattan's pen, and
does high credit to his poetic talents : from this specimen, we should
be inclined to assign him the foremost place as a poet among the emi-
nent members of the eminent public men of his day, among whom it
was a favourite amusement to write occasional verses. These lines
are happily preserved, and will repay the trouble of looking for them
in the memoirs published by his son.* The reader will be struck by
the nervous idiomatic simplicity of the language — the easy, unlaboured,
and unencumbered music of the metre — the delicately edged vein of
irony which runs through it — and, perhaps, also, the just critical tact
of his allusions to the piece.

It is unnecessary to trace minutely his progress at this period.
Among the numerous letters published by his son, we find the follow-
ing characteristic notice of Tinnehinch, the spot where his residence
was afterwards fixed : — " I have not forgotten the romantic valley. I
look on it with an eye of forecast. It may be the recreation of an
active life, or the shelter of an obscure one, &c." We may generally
observe, that the rapid progress of his taste and understanding is very

of elegant literature, or exalted worth, has fallen within the province of our work.
The right honourable Charles Kendal Bushe, so long the pride and ornament of
the most fastidious and courtly circle in this country, the model of a good land-
'lord, of a finished gentleman, of a kind parent, relation and friend, is now among
the brighter recollections of the past : as a judge excelled by none, and equalled
by few ; as an orator high among the highest of that rare standard class to whom
none of the existing public speakers can be compared ; as a wit approached by
none. His conversation was remarkable for the unsought and unaffected play of
a brilliant and rich fancy, which dazzled without wounding — too affluent and too
polished to require or to admit of any aid from satire or the flippancy of witticism,
and which, without effort, obtrusiveness or pedantry, lent a chaste, refined, and
classic glow to the circle enriched by his presence. The same fastidious and cul-
tivated taste that polished his manner and conversation, prevailed in his conduct.
The praise of our Irish poet may be applied to his character, with a rare felicity ;
" for even his failings leaned to virtue's side." Into his discharge of public duty
he carried a sense of honour verging to the limits of infirmity, the true " infirm-
ity of noble minds ;" and guarded the stern purity of justice with a spirit more
proud and high than the jealousy of Csesar. He is departed, — the state of so-
ciety, productive of much good and evil, in which his brilliant character was
formed, has long passed away, and it is with a solemn sincerity which disclaims
the common cant of rhetoric that we may say with his own favourite classic :
'• He was a man, — take him for all in all, we ne'er shall look upon his like again."

* Vol. I., p. 146.

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 367

observable in these letters ; and that in every respect. His taste
becomes correct, and his opinions more free from false taste and moral
fallacy, which appear to have been at earlier periods the result of a
morbid tendency, and the seduction of brilliant but vicious thinkers.
In the year 1770, when he was in his twenty-fourth year, he was
leading a life of infinite hurry and variety between London, Dublin,
and the county of Kilkenny. In the latter place he divided his time
between Kilfane and Farmley: in Dublin, he met with too much hos-
pitality and claret for his taste; in London, he says, " My chambers
are comfortable and cheerful ; they entice me to be domestic and
studious." Windsor, too, had, as of old, his visits; and, as of old, he
seems there to have found the genius of melancholy, his first love,
faithful to the tryst. From hence he writes, " I write this letter from
the dullest solitude which ever I have experienced. You know my
mind has ever had a hankering after misery; I have cultivated that
defect with astonishing success, and have now refined my mind into
the most aching sensibility imaginable." A little further there occurs
the following singularly accurate description of this state of temper : —
" the fact is, I have no resolution, and in solitude feel the most frivo-
lous incidents as great calamities."

It was some time in the year 1771, that he wrote his celebrated
character of Chatham; this was inserted in the Baratinana. It has been
made very generally known, by having afterwards obtained a place in
a selection of standard specimens of style for the use of education: in,
which, if we rightly recollect, it is attributed to lord Chesterfield. The
author of the Baratinana gave it as an extract from a forthcoming
work of Robertson. It displays the most consummate finish of that
highly rhetorical style of which Mr Grattan has been, after lord
Chatham, the greatest master.

In the autumn of the same year, he had completed his term at the
middle temple ; and was become more in earnest in his legal studies.
One consequence of this new diligence in the study of law was just
what the intelligent reader cannot fail to have anticipated — a disgust
at that dry factitious science of constructions and pleadings, statutes and
precedents. In him, taste, fancy, and enthusiasm, were principles far
too active and predominant to be controlled and subdued, as they often
are, by graver studies ; and thus, while he looked with a fond regret
on hours consumed over Pope and Milton ; and indulged a high-
wrought sensibility by weeping over the works of Gray, who had
recently died in the same year, it was not unnatural that he should
speak of his detestation of the profession he was about to enter.*

In September he visited France, and spent some time in Paris, from
which he visited Vernon and the banks of the Loire.

In the following year he was called to the bar. For a time he en -
tered seriously on his hard avocation; went circuit, and was engaged in
an important suit. His client having been unsuccessful, his romantic
generosity of temper prompted him to return half the amount of his
fifty guinea fee : with such a disposition, a strong attachment to
politics sedulously cherished; with social connexions among the bril-

* Sec Life by his Son, Vol. I., p. 247.

368 POLITICAL SEHIES. [FjFTH

liant circle of which lord Charlemont was the centre, and all that was
attractive for wit, literature, elegant art, or public spirit, the material ;
Burgh, Daly, Yelverton, Langrishe, Flood, &c.; Mr Grattan was not
very likely to become the more reconciled to the law. So far as we
are enabled to draw any inference from his correspondence, we should
judge that there was for some time at this interval, an unsettled state
of feeling, the result of opposite impulses, which terminated in idleness
and a general relaxation of industry, and an impatient sense of
weariness, arising from a want of some pursuit to fill his mind, and
consume its excess of fuel.

Happily for him, an occasion at last arose, which brought him for-
Avard in a manner more adapted to his real character, and affording
the appropriate direction to his mind. On the death of lord Charle-
mont's brother, Mr Grattan was, as we have already had occasion to
relate, returned as member of parliament for his lordship's borough.

From this his distinguished career begins. The political history of
which his efforts form a considerable part, have been already noticed
in our memoirs of Charlemont and Flood, to the full extent that our
undertaking demands, or our contracting space can afford. We must
therefore assume the reader to be already in possession of the main
outline of events, and confine ourselves chiefly to those incidents which
are involved with the more immediate object of our memoir.

Of his debut in the house, the following notice was taken by the
public press of the day: — " Mr Grattan spoke — not a studied speech,
but in reply — the spontaneous flow of natural eloquence. Though so
young a man, he spoke without hesitation; and, if he keeps to this
example, will be a valuable weight in the scale of patriotism." This
first effort was on the loth of December, 1775, four days after taking
his seat. He was now in his twenty-ninth year, and may be presumed
to have nearly attained the fullest maturity of his intellect.

For several ensuing sessions we find him taking an active part
against the government, in concert chiefly with Burgh, Yelverton,
and Bushe, and striving against measures oppressive to Irish trade,
or pressing for retrenchment. At that period, as we have already
described, Ireland was little understood, and less cared for in the
English court: her government was conducted more with regard to
the interests of England, than her own. A popular spirit had been
awakened, and a state of public opinion and feeling, such as to give
birth to leading minds, and call forth a long and growing succession
of strong and pertinacious struggles with a radically defective consti-
tution of things. So far as the commercial interests of Ireland were
concerned, there can be little doubt but that these efforts had a just
and legitimate object. In this their ultimate success, favoured by
events, was proportioned to these efforts, and Ireland was placed in a
position for further advance in that common progress of which she
alone among nations had nearly stood still for ages. But, as is inci-
dental to all human effort when connected with party, the struggle
carried the combatants too far; and our history is perplexed with
actions and reactions, errors and counter errors, injuries inflicted and
retorted, which as they afford countenance and sanction to much in-
tentional misrepresentation, so they render it hard to avoid much that

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 369

is undesigned. In tracing that course of events, none but a fool will
promise to be unerring ; but some guidance is to be obtained by keep-
ing in view the great current of tendencies, on which all alike were
carried down the turbid stream. With this clue, we trust that there
will be a sufficient degree of evidence accompanying an account of
several years in which Mr Grattan was a main actor in the scene.
The whole is best conveyed in the foregoing observation, of which the
truth starts to the eye at every point, " effort carried beyond the point
of attainment." When certain points are attained, civil progress is
dependent on quiet industry — and not to be accelerated by human
policy, or even retarded, unless by the most violent intestinal disorders,
the resistance of a people themselves. Trade gathers wealth, and
wealth attains influence and power — its natural rights and conse-
quences—as certainly as the bud expands into the flower, and the
flower falls into the fruit; this is a part of the nature of things. Had
the good and able men who effected the happy result which thus had
launched the destinies of the land upon the right way, had the wisdom
to look (further than they were by their lights enabled to do,) into the
true laws of national increase and prosperity ; had they stopped in time,
and guarded what they had so well and meritoriously obtained, it had
perhaps been fortunate for their country. But, unhappily, the popular
spirit which was at first so powerful an instrument in their hands, was
not a safe resort ; it entered too largely into their counsels, and hurried
them beyond the line of safety and prudence. They were hurried on too
by the prepossessions of their constitutional theory ; they had in view
the constitution of England, but failed to appreciate the real state and
period of Ireland's immaturity. Admiring the polish, the symmetry,
and strong defences of the giant's armour, they tried to fit it to the
stripling form of the hopeful child of their love. In this, perhaps,
they had not much choice — the popular spirit of the Irish was hard
to appease — alert and inflammable, the people have always been espe-
cially open to the whisperings of discontent; and while patiently endur-
ing the severest ills, prone to take fire at imaginary grievances and
visionary hopes. Hence the perpetual wave which has never fallen into
wholesome stillness, though it has at intervals been compelled into the
stagnation of inert calm. Thus have triumphs ended in prostrations,

" Vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on t'other side."

Such is a dimly coloured outline of the order of events now opened
to our attention. They will be found in their earlier details in our
memoir of Lord Charlemont. WTe shall now take up our narrative.

We have already in this division of our work entered in some detail
into the main political events of the interval to which we have now
arrived. And as it is here our intention to advert more specially but
to such incidents as immediately concern the subject of this memoir,
it may be enough to observe summarily, that the greatest distress and
difficulty embarrassed the trade of the country, owing to restrictions
now long admitted to be impolitic ; at the same time the government lay
under the most pressing difficulties, from a condition of their finances
amounting to a state bankruptcy, joined with the most lavish and

VOL. V. 2 A

370 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

profligate method by which the government majority was kept up
during lord Buckingham's administration, when a stoppage of all pay-
ments from the treasury was resorted to. A large sum of money was
borrowed from the bank of Mr Latouche, who on a second applica-
tion for a similar loan very prudently refused. A general discontent
prevailed, notwithstanding we have the authority of lord Buckingham
himself for stating that there was a strong and zealous loyalty to the
king diffused through every rank.

On these considerations it is not necessary to enter particularly.
The main occasion for the first and best exertions of Mr Grattan
arose out of the wretched condition of Irish trade, at this time re-
stricted and circumscribed on every side ; — at home encumbered and
discouraged; abroad cut off. In brief, there was a complication of
mismanagement and injustice which might be termed flagrant and
revolting, if it were not to be excused in some measure by the ignor-
ance by which it was accompanied. It was not understood, how nearly
the prosperity of both countries depended on that of either — and
upon that union of both, to which the identification of their interests
must have been the needful preliminary. It does not seem to have
been apprehended, that the wealth of Ireland must be the surest means
of extending that of England in every branch of commerce. Nor was
it then at all apprehended, that the advancement of the Irish people in
civilization must entirely depend on the promotion of the trade of the
country. — It is true that among the higher class of English statesmen,
notions comparatively enlightened did prevail. But to counteract these
there existed among these that wretched ignorance of Ireland which
has been attended with the worst consequences at all times, even to the
very day in which we write. It is indeed, deeply, awfully important, that
the fundamental facts which constituted the great question of Irish trade,
as it stood at that interval, should be largely and demonstratively in-
vestigated and popularly explained in the present day. Because the
main cause of the evils with which Ireland is now affected can be easily
traced into the utter ignorance of a people whose intellectual activity
has been preternaturally excited and handed over to the guidance of their
passions and prejudices. Depressed and poor, they have been elabo-
rately misguided into attributing their sufferings to all causes but those
which really produce them; the depression of the national industry ;
and this not from idleness or laziness — for the pre-eminent merit of the
Irish people is a natural disposition to industry — but from the dis-
ordered and meddling activity, the spirit of interference, of turbulence,
of insurrection and blind impulse, which utterly arrests every process
of commercial speculation. Would but some wise and beneficent voice
whisper to their better sense the expediency of being quiet ; explain
to them that the wrongs they complain of are not and cannot be the
causes of their sufferings ; that lesser evils uniformly subside before
the influences of advanced civilization; and cannot otherwise be per-
manently cured ; that the permanent fever of the country is itself the
disease of Ireland, and that nothing else can prevent our growth to
the level of other nations; it would be a far greater benefit than lash-
ing the whole country into convulsions of madness and folly, for in-
substantial advantages and visionary wrongs; for complaints which

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 371

remind all sober persons of the fable of the lamb and the wolf at the
stream; for advantages very like the " three ruffles and no shirt" in the
song-. But we are carried beyond our brief. In the time of Mr
Grattan the case was different; and we are bound to mark this differ-
ence, because it concerns us earnestly and anxiously to keep in view
the wide yet not equally perceptible distinction to which it appertains,
— the distinction between the patriot and the demagogue.

At that time the country was poor, labouring under commercial
restrictions which could not fail to keep it so; overtaxed, and its
revenue misapplied; every burthen also, rightful or wrongful, to which
a penurious peasantry were subject, was aggravated by a cruel and
oppressive mode of collecting. Above all was the one great grievance,
the source of many others — a parliament dependent, and in all things
subservient. Against these unquestionable evils a few eminent men
stood firmly and disinterestedly. Men who rejected all the overtures
of state corruption, and took an open, unquestionable, and thoroughly
disinterested course, labouring for their country, but equally indepen-
dent of every influence either of power or popularity. Of this small
band, Mr Grattan's pre-eminent talent, his heroic independence, fear-
lessness and incorruptibility, quickly rendered him the efficient parlia-
mentary leader. As we have already stated the main questions in
•which he took a distinguished part for a considerable interval, we shall,
so far as regards facts already detailed, now content ourselves with the
general statement, that there occurred no question of any importance
in which he did not occupy a prominent and effective position, either as
a mover or a principal support ; during the whole time he was also
uniformly and rapidly gaining a more commanding possession of the
public respect and confidence, until he stood clearly at the head,
virtually the leader of a party composed of the best mind of his coun-
try: the same disinterestedness, unaccommodating integrity; the
same courage, promptness and fervid zeal; the same sagacity and
eloquence, still to be traced in every act and procedure throughout
the whole. For the details we must here refer back to our memoirs
of Charlemont and Flood — his contemporaries and allies through many
years. In these may be found the origin of the volunteers — the
dangers which their presence repelled — the effects of their influence
on the politics of their time; the restoration of trade, and lastly that of
the Irish Parliament to a nominal independence. The merits of Mr
Grattan in the prosecution of these great national changes have not
been omitted in our narrative; and the reward conferred by his country,
unquestioned by the judgment of his own time or that succeeding, may
now be viewed as the strong attestation of the powers and exertions
by which it had been earned.

With these observations we now pass over the events of a few years
of strenuous and successful labour for Ireland, on the part of Mr
Grattan and the illustrious company of eminent orators and statesmen
by whom he had been so ably supported. In the interval thus glanced
at, Ireland had obtained all that was wanting to raise her to her place
among nations, and far more than had been desired by the most sanguine
expectations. Mr Grattan himself filled that eminent place in public
opinion, and in the judgment of all wise and good men. His abilities,

372 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

moderation, resolution, and unparalleled disinterestedness, were not to
be misunderstood, when some changes in the public mind began to
appear, which may be thought to illustrate the too common absurdity
of attributing to the popular mind that wisdom and virtue, which, in
truth, cannot often be traced to the counsels and conduct of statesmen.
These changes are such also as may help to show how unsafe an instru-
ment popular excitement is, for the furtherance of those improvements
which can only be brought to pass effectively and permanently, by means
and processes of a very different nature.

By the repeal of the statute 6, George I., the last substantial shackle
was struck from the legislature of Ireland, when (as has been said, and
we think justly,) the ambition of one eminent individual gave a new
impulse to the popular agitation. It was contended by Mr Flood, that
the simple repeal was insufficient, and that an express declaratory act
should renounce on the part of the English parliament all right to
bind Ireland by enactments of whatever kind. Such a declaration
must evidently have the effect of affirming one of two things — either
that England had committed a usurpation, or that she had possessed
the right so renounced; while the simple repeal of the only act which
affirmed anything on the subject, evidently left no ground for any
question. But the most important objection to such a proceeding was
of a different description; it was justly feared by all thoughtful and
sober men, that the proposition was likely to impress the English
governmentand people, with the notion (difficult to avoid) of a spirit too
exacting to be contented with any measure of concession. It offered
another most true and unfortunante exposure, in manifesting the
tendency of the Irish people to become the dupes of the demagogue;
their constitutional readiness to fancy visionary grievances, and to
follow every voice that raises the cry of malcontent. The reality and
the aggravated nature of their grievances and distresses, had, until
now, masked these constitutional peculiarities; an unhappy train of
events, of which this was the beginning, was now to call them forth.

Mr Grattan, as well as the party which thought and acted with him,
no less moderate and prudent in the use of success than they had been
firm and uncompromising in the pursuit of their great object, steadily
withstood Mr Flood's superfluous proposal. But Mr Flood not
merely persevered; he had recourse to popular agitation. The people
always prompt to take fire, and only ready to lend their ear to those
who appeal to their passions — reluctant to stop and prove, and prone
to advance indefinitely in the direction of whatever impulse — caught
up the cry of " express renunciation," as eagerly as if they understood
everything about the question.

Mr Flood was only supported by three votes in the house. Mr
Grattan took a decided part in opposition, and proposed a vote that
whoever " maintained that Ireland was not independent, was inimical
to the peace of both kingdoms." This he withdrew, and moved that leave
be refused to bring in the bill, because the sole and exclusive right
of legislation in the Irish parliament in all cases, whether internally
or externally, hath been already asserted by Ireland, and fully, finally,
and irrevocably, acknowledged by the British parliament — which was
passed unanimously.

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 373

There was an unlucky conjunction of incidents to aggravate the
effect of this apparently slight collision. Lord Abingdon proposed a
bill in England — strongly asserting the subordination of Ireland to
England, as a part of her maritime and commercial empire. Though
this bill was not even suffered to lie on the table, it produced its full
effect in Ireland. With this, another incident, altogether insignificant
in itself, and indeed a matter of course, concurred to aggravate the
distemperature of the popular mind. When the bill settling the ques-
tion of appeals had passed, there happened to remain for decision in
the English court of king's bench one case of appeal from Ireland.
It had passed through the course of its proceedings, and was in fact
only waiting for adjudication. The parties had been put to all the
inconveniences of delay and expense attendant on such proceedings;
and to any rational person it must have seemed an outrage as well as
an extravagant absurdity, that these proceedings should be recom-
menced, and expenses repeated for the mere satisfaction of a public
feeling founded on ignorance. The case had arrived at its termina-
tion, and the new law did not in fact apply. The appeal was then
a past transaction; the pleadings had begun; the time for pleading
the new statute was over ; to bring it forward would have been a step
iiot only vexatious, but one for which there existed no provision, and
therefore manifestly illegal. Such was the simple fact. As no further
appeal could, according to this law, take place, the case could in no way
recur, and the question of judicature was uuinvolved. Nevertheless, in
Ireland it was enough to find the shadow of a grievance or a wrong.
This went with the other untoward incidents already described, and
excited indications of public discontent, which were most ill-timed,
and unfortunate in every way. They seemed to show that in this
country public outcries proved nothing but the tendency to excite-
ment; and thus suggested the inutility of concession; the hopelessness
of conciliation ; and the portentous inference that Ireland could not
stand by herself.

To confirm the misapprehensions of the public, the lawyers' corps
entered with factious zeal into the outcry for the express renunciation
of a declaratory bill ; and, with the natural indifference of legal subtlety,
drew up an opinion to this effect. This was met by a more sound and
authoritative opinion from the ablest and most reputed lawyers of the
Irish bar.

The British parliament complied with the unreasonable requisition
of a faction. They passed, soon after, the declaratory law required;
and by the simple repeal of this, as Mr Grattan observed, " Ireland
would have been left in a worse situation than before."

But the one result in which we are immediately concerned was, the
strong revulsion of popular feeling against Mr Grattan. It is, indeed,
one of the many memorable lessons which history offers on the muta-
bility and the insignificance of popular affections, only to be won by-
inflaming, and retained by continuing the fever of the public mind.
The true and incorruptible patriot, who, in the exigency of real griev-
ance, was ready to devote himself to the cause of his country — who was
neither to be bought nor terrified — was little likely to be the dupe or
creature of popularity: he who yielded nothing to the influences of

374 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

rank, talent, and power, was not to be the puppet of a faction — the turba
Quiritium prava Jubentium. " All Grattan's services," writes Mr
Hardy, " were thrown into oblivion. The favourite of the 16th of
April became, in little more than two months — indeed, long before
' their shoes were old,' in following him with loud acclamations —
one of the most unpopular men in the kingdom." That such a man,
and such sacrifices and labours, should meet with such a reward, was
pronounced by lord Charlemont, writing at the time, " a baseness of
ingratitude that surpasses all comprehension."

Mr Grattan's health, never of the most robust constitution, suffered
by these labours and annoyances. He had suffered from illness dur-
ing the session. When it was over he complied with the advice of his
physicians, and went to try the waters at Spa.

On his return, Mr Grattan married Miss Henrietta Fitzgerald, a
young lady of many attractions and endearing qualities. She was on
her father's side a descendant from the ancient family of Desmond.
She had been much admired in Dublin, for beauty and accomplish-
ment, and merited a higher sentiment for a " rectitude of mind, a
purity of thought, a dignity of manner, and a disposition the most
amiable and benign." Her marriage was immediately preceded by a
violent illness from which the physician gave up all hopes of her
recovery. The severity of the interval to the deep affections and
ardent temper of Mr Grattan may be imagined. When, however, the
chief medical men of Dublin had given her up, the strenuous affec-
tions of her affianced lover discovered a physician whose skill and bold-
ness were blessed with success, and she was restored to him from the
clutch of the grave.

His marriage followed; and having thus secured a harbour more
safe than the favour of rabbles and factions, Mr Grattan turned his
mind toward the spot long selected for a home. He took a tem-
porary lodging at a place called Wingfield, somewhere in the well-
known neighbourhood of the Dargle. At one extremity of this glen,
only separated by a road from the romantic woods and lawns of
Powerscourt, lay, or stood the mansion of Tinnehinch, which had
been an inn, the resort of the vast numbers who came attracted by
the scenery of the loveliest spot of wood, water, and green grass
in Ireland. This was the spot long before selected by Mr Grattan
"with an eye of forecast," for the residence of his future years. Here
he presently completed his purchase and began his improvements :
but the soil was unfavourable, wet and sandy, and subject from the
lowness of the level, to be frequently overlaid with water. At much
expense, and by the exertion of considerable ingenuity and labour,
Mr Grattan contrived to remedy these disadvantages.

While the calm sunshine of domestic felicity was thus rising upon
his home, storms and troubles were thickening for him without. The
democratic impulse by which so much had been effected was an
instrument which could not be stopped when its work was done; it
was a brute force, and the quantity of motion was beyond the control
of the movers. The volunteers were become, according to the forci-
ble expressions of Mr Daly — " ready to determine any question in
the whole circle of sciences that should be proposed to them, and to

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 375

burn every person who doubted their infallibility." In a word, they
became tainted with democratic principles, imported from the Jacobin
club. Mr Flood, dissatisfied with his own share in the great suc-
cesses which had been obtained — at variance with all the prominent
actors, and filled with animosity against their illustrious leader —
was now exercising a late and most pernicious activity, and exciting
the volunteers to renewed exertion, when every other true friend
of Ireland was anxious to restrain them. The questions which we
have just stated, were the immediate pretexts for turning their dis-
content against Mr Grattan. The Independent Dublin 'Volunteers,
of which he was the colonel, were assembled by Mr Flood their
lieutenant-colonel. They presented an address to Mr Grattan, ex-
pressive of their opinion on the subject of the "express renunciation,"
which they supported by the opinion of the lawyers' corps. Mr
Grattan replied in a calm, moderate, and dignified tone, expressive
of dissent. He stated, that he considered the ceasing of his com-
mand, to be the result of this disagreement ; but forebore from
expressly resigning, lest this might seem "to be an act of unmanly
offence," &c., concluding with the just, and in his instance, pathetic
observation, " There is a final justice in public opinion, on which I
do not fear to stand."

In the year 1783> there was an election, and a new administration.
On this latter circumstance, our present narrative requires no special
notice. Mr Grattan was returned for the borough of Charlemont.
His parliamentary conduct was very much governed by those consider-
ations of which we have taken some pains to possess the reader; the
sense that very great concessions had been but just made, that popular
exaction was too much excited ; and perhaps, withal a sense that the
part he had himself taken in extorting so much, and raising so power-
ful a tone of public spirit, more especially imposed it upon him to
show a just moderation and to guard against any ill consequences.
With such (most just) impressions, the part he had to perform was
one of much delicacy ; and perhaps only to be kept clear from imputa-
tion, by the character of a man who maintained the most strict and
self-denying independence. This was precisely the main feature of
Mr Grattau's conduct at the present juncture. He set himself in
opposition to the fallacious pertinacity of his countrymen, without any
concession to the opposite party ; and supported the administration
without even the suspicion of a compromise, so far as his reason and
sense of right suggested that it was expedient and just.

It was an occasion of this nature which led the way to the cele-
brated quarrel between him and Mr Flood. Of this there are few
readers uninformed, as it remains an oft cited example of parliamen-
tary invective. The main particulars are already stated in this
volume, in our notice of Mr Flood.* It was a motion for retrench-
ment, made when such a motion was unseasonable, that brought on
the collision. It is not to be understood that Mr Grattan was
opposed to such a requisition on principle, but he then opposed it
because it was simply factious, and likely to convey a pernicious im-

» P. 220.

376 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

pression. Of his motion it may be presumed, that the account offered
by his son, is the true one, and received from himself; he "declined
to join an opposition of that character, lest it might be said that every
effort had been made to gain the affections of the Irish, by a series
of concessions, and every experiment had been tried to cultivate these
friendly dispositions, but all to no purpose." This just sentiment is
indeed one of the lessons of history.

The only consequence of this dispute now to be noticed, was the
storm of abuse and misrepresentation, against Mr Grattan, which it
drew from the press. The volunteers, under the same influences
which we have already related, took a more distinct tone in favour
of Mr Flood, who now gave the entire tone to their language and
proceedings. We have already given some account of the conven-
tion of delegates in Dublin, which took place at this interval of our
memoir. We shall only now say, that neither Mr Grattan, nor any
of his political associates, joined it. He was labouring at the time
to give effect to what had been already done for Ireland, and
with this view, endeavoured to maintain and exert an influence
where alone at the moment, influence or effort had the slightest
chance of being in any way useful ; and this was with the govern-
ment itself. This assumption was either the policy or the pretext upon
which his great rival lent himself for many years to the castle, in
times, when to do so, was to disarm himself, and at the same time, lend
a countenance to much of which he could not approve, while the ac-
ceptance of a lucrative office threw a suspicion over his motives. Mr
Grattan left no such handle for detraction. He accepted nothing;
his motives were remotely clear of every imputation. But now what-
ever might be the complexion of its political tenets, the administration
had adopted the understanding, on which he himself had taken his
stand; true and liberal justice to Ireland. Such being the convention
of the moment, unless "patriotism" be a term synonymous with
" faction," it was obviously the part of the patriot to aid and
enlighten its good intentions. Mr Grattan in fact took his stand
near the helm — for there alone was his station; but he submitted to
no obligation, his aid was sternly exclusive, he would not be bribed,
and could not be smiled and bowed out of his principles; he came to
give counsel, and under such an understanding that any attempt to
control him, on the part of government, could not have occurred. It
was indeed the best pledge of the sincerity of government, that his
counsel was sought.

At this time there occurred an incident, trifling in itself which may
give some idea of Mr Grattan's position with all the parties. An
entertainment was given, by G. R. Fitzgerald to the notorious bishop
of Bristol, and several of the volunteer officers. Mr Grattan, whom
that party were still endeavouring to win to themselves, was invited ;
he did not belong to the convention, and as the reader is aware, made
no secret of his disapprobation. He nevertheless, had never come to
any direct opposition with them, and the formal respect of accepting
the invitation would have been due to persons of rank and respecta-
bility, with many of whom he was moreover on friendly terms. In
the course of the evening, the dissatisfaction of this party was excited

PERIOD.]

HENRY GRATTAN. 377

by the arrival of a special messenger from Mr Pelham, requesting the
presence of Mr Grattan, at a council in the castle. He left the party,
but as he was going he received an intimation from a faithful servant
of his own, that a mob was collected for the purpose of way-laying
him. His life would of course have been the sacrifice, had he fallen
in with this atrocious rabble — who in all probability had been set on
by their superiors in wickedness. But his mission to the castle, was
providentially the means of disappointing the thirst for his blood, and
preserving him for his country. The same incident also, in another
way proves, the high confidence reposed in the noble integrity of Mr
Grattan's character. The party with which he had dined was at the
moment, and there is every reason to know on substantial grounds,
under strong suspicion of treasonable designs, and that the meeting
of the privy council which he that night attended, was for the arrest
of their leader the bishop of Bristol. If so, it is not by any means
impossible, that this needless act was prevented by Mr Grattan's
interposition.

We have already gone in this volume into the history of this fac-
tion, its meetings in the Rotundo, its arrogation of legislative power,
its attempts to impose its dictation on the Irish parliament. We have
also given a sufficient narrative of the result and the debate in the com-
mons on that occasion, when the patriot members though not dis-
approving of the measure of reform thus proposed, concurred to reject
a proposal thus presented at the point of the bayonet.* We shall now
only add, a remark which we shall hereafter have more fully to urge,
that the real result of this contumacious effort to prolong their interfer-
ence, was the actual commencement of a new underworking contest
which terminated in the Union; and could not well have failed to lead
to that event.

The most truly disagreeable result to Mr Grattan, from the moderate
and independent course he had adopted, was a rupture with the good
and worthy lord Charlemont. This was the more to be regretted, be-
cause he was at the time sitting for the borough of this nobleman.
But it could not be avoided; lord Charlemont had recently been treated
by the castle with less respect than was due to his character and services,
and it is probable that some human mixture of personal feeling entered
into his opposition. However this may have been, he entered with
zeal into the opposition which, carried as it was into trifles, Mr
Grattan at this time thought both unseasonable and unbecoming.
There is evidently a tone of wounded pride in the letter which he
wrote to Mr Grattan, expressive of his disapprobation, and declaring
their friendship at an end. The immediate occasion of this dis-
agreement, was a question relative to an augmentation of the army;
which lord Charlemont had recommended Mr Grattan to oppose. Mr
Grattan not feeling satisfied under such circumstances, to continue
indebted for his seat to one who had taken such a course, immediately
purchased a seat from a relation of lord Charlemont's.

The prudence and wisdom of Mr Grattan's conduct, is very clearly
illustrated by the character of the changes which can be traced in their

* P. 202.

378 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

beginnings at this period; in fact the wave of excitement had not only
as we have already said, survived its direct causes, but as might be
anticipated, it had become altered and deteriorated in its material.
From the leaders, the work of agitation was now passing into the hands
of the subordinates ; from the substantial yeomanry, into the rabble.
The sublime commotion of the higher elements, had passed away and
was attempted to be imitated by something very like a storm in a
puddle — " One would naturally inquire," said Mr Grattan, " the
great call or necessity for all these extraordinary proceedings; one
would suppose some great and fundamental principle of the constitu-
tion violated; that the principles of the revolution were invaded; &c.,

&c one would not have imagined what is the fact — that this

country is in full, free, uninterrupted possession of the benefits of two
revolutions, the English and the Irish ; of the fruits of every exertion
of both nations; that she is more free than ever she was before 1782,
and as free as England at any period. I should now like to draw the
attention of the house to the alarming measure of drilling the lowest
classes of the populace, by which a stain has been put on the character
of the volunteers. The old, the original volunteers had become re-
spectable, because they represented the property of the nation; but
attempts had been made to arm the poverty of the kingdom." We
have extracted this passage, not merely to do Mr Grattan the justice
of expressing in his own language, the view upon which the whole of
his conduct is to be rightly understood; but for the authoritative
confirmation it seems to offer of the character we attribute to the
events of this interval. The same elements from which so much
good had been attained, not being allowed to settle, unhappily propa-
gated a movement which was to lead, in the course of no long time,
to far different results. But we reserve further remark, until the
next succeeding memoirs in which we shall have arrived at those
results.

Among the most celebrated of Mr Grattan's efforts in the Irish
parliament, occurred upon the well-known question of Mr Orde's com-
mercial propositions. This question had no permanent result; yet to
describe the incidents of its discussion, we should enter at some length
upon a subject of considerable and complicated detail. Great benefits
were offered to Ireland; but, it was thought, at the expense of her
legislative independence, and to the disadvantage of English trading
interests. These two considerations drew forth very considerable
opposition from the several parties who thought themselves affected.
The resolutions therefore came to nothing. But Mr Grattan's
speech in opposition was the most distinguished on the occasion, and
while it raised his character universally, it had the effect of restoring
his popularity.

Mr Grattan, still bent on services where they were apparently
called for by the state of the country, next turned his attention to the
abuses of the tithe system. The question was in many respects
clouded by errors and prejudices, which it would be perhaps too much
to expect, that Mr Grattan should have seen through. A shrewd
observer, and a rapid thinker, it cannot still be pretended that his
mind rose clear above the prejudices of his country and time. At that

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 379

dark and half-civilized period when the gentry of Ireland are known
in general not to have risen much above the lower classes in moral
character; when in most parts of the country they exercised a spirit
of oppression over the peasantry, now altogether unparalleled, it had
been their custom to join in exciting a popular feeling against the
clergy; in part because they grudged the stinted income, which they
looked on as an unprofitable exaction, but still more because the outcry
thus raised was considered to turn the resentment of their tenantry in
a safe direction. This spirit was additionally prompted by other
causes; the natural hostility of the irreligious to religion, with the differ-
ences of creeds, and churches, and the obvious cavils that would arise.
From these causes alone (had there beenno others,) there would have been
enough to account for all the animosity against tithes, which commencing
then was long after kept alive. In consequence, all parties then joined
heartily in railing against parsons and tithepigs, and by the common
art of fabricating, misrepresenting, and miscalculating, a new and
fertile grievance arose and swallowed up many which had more founda-
tion. But unhappily the cause of scandal was aided by the effect of
one vast abuse ; the tithes were collected by means which would have
cast an odium on the least unpopular burthen. A class of men called
proctors, sprung themselves from the peasantry — and as usually
happens in the rise of base-born persons advanced by means of that low
talent for intrigue and craft, and that eager sense of self-interest,
which stamps the village-lawyer — a personage who bears the same
relation to the attorney, as the quack to the regular physician. These
persons having their fortunes to make, and no character to lose, with
the inhumanity that belongs to such natures, and without the sense of
honour or justice which belongs to education, were intrusted with the
levy of dues themselves unpopular. The consequence was fraud,
and exaction, carried to their fullest extent. And as these crafty
persons, having to deal with the simplicity of their employers, and
the miserable ignorance of those whom it was their calling to oppress,
they cheated both parties with the most impartial knavery. By their
superior cunning ; by their knowledge of chicanery ; and by dexterous
management by which they obtained power in the parishes, they
enabled themselves to exercise no inconsiderable tyranny, and in addi-
tion to their ordinary impositions they contrived to levy no small ex-
actions in the shape of bribes, presents, and treats. Among other
curious indications belonging to this state of things, it was usual for
the proctor to get drunk in the gradual progress of his daily visi-
tations. They were in a word a pest and a nuisance so great that no
system which carried with it such an enormity could be otherwise
than odious. But, as we have said, in the peculiar state of Ireland,
tithes were themselves an obvious mark for the enmity of hostile
churches ; and when liable to question and complaint, it was a matter
of course that party zeal would accumulate all grievance to augment
the torrent of ecclesiastical hate and animosity. The common people,
incapable of distinctions, were easily inflamed; and in this time, and
upon this question commenced the rise of that agitation which has
not yet subsided. Of course every one on every side, who has taken
the slightest pains to extricate the subject from the entanglements

380 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

of party prejudices and fallacies, is aware that every single part of the
case against tithes, (beyond the accidents here stated,) is error in
principle, or misstatement in fact. The half-dozen main errors to be
noticed would lead us too far; we should have to discuss the questions,
What properly constitutes "the people?" What order is the highest,
and which is the lowest, and the respective weight due to each?
What are the real claims of education — and what those of property?
We should have to expose the absurdity contained in the ridiculous
phrase of the "religion of the majority;" as if mere brute numbers
could have any claim to arrogate any superiority but the one, which
they are seldom able to maintain, and that only in the utter dissolu-
tion of society, brute force. Were we to demonstrate all this, we
should have to counteract the unwelcome inference, by some distinct
statements of what the claims of the peasantry of a nation really are.
But we are happy to feel our exemption from discussions, which the
events of the present day render so nice to touch on.

Mr Grattan's usual sagacity and moderation were shown in the
practical character of his propositions upon the subject of tithes. And
it may be said to his praise, that he anticipated in principle the better
part of the improvements of subsequent legislation at later periods
of our history. The speech in which he introduced his motion on the
14th Feb., 1788, is perhaps the most powerful of his parliamentary
efforts. It excited strong sensations, and obtained the highest praise
on every side. A review of that time noticed that " Mr Grattan took
three hours in delivering this speech, in which he displayed the most
consummate eloquence, that any assembly whether modern or ancient
could perhaps boast of," . . . . " when he came to reason on the subject
like a statesman, a philosopher, and a Christian, the house was amazed
at the blaze of eloquence with which he lighted up the subject," &c.
The speech as it yet stands, is indeed a striking specimen of all the
best powers of Mr Grattan's eloquence ; and, we would say, manifestly
displays him in the fullest maturity of his understanding and infor-
mation. It may also be read to learn a state of opinions, and in some
degree, of facts, now long past away. That the measures he then
proposed were not adopted, we consider as matter of regret ; we have
been taught to know that worse might happen from the long accumu-
lations of popular animosity which is the idiosyncrasy of our race and
country. But we do not quite concur with the commentary which
affirms that subsequent disasters in Ireland would have been in such
case avoided. Crimes and madness might have been left with less
apology ; but they would have been equally committed ; for they had
other causes, and would have found apology enough in any state of
things. It would be well if this fallacy could be well exposed.

One feature of Mr Grattan's statements should be noticed, as it
merits high praise. He kept clear of the miserable error, so inci-
dental to parliamentary discussions of questions affecting the church,
of speaking in the character of an infidel. His statements did not
imply the falsehood of revealed religion, in the assumption that the
statesman is essentially exempt from any regard to its obligations.*

* See page 122.

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 381

Coming forward to remedy great abuses in the church, he maintained
the character of a Christian.

In the year 1788, he visited London, in consequence of Mrs
Grattan's ill health. It was a period of some importance and great
interest; at this time George III. was under the first symptoms of that
distressing malady which soon after appeared, and proved the source
of a severe and trying party collision in Ireland, to which consequences
of a more permanent nature have been attributed. In this interval
Mr Grattan became acquainted with the Prince of Wales, and lived
much among the more distinguished persons who were attached to his
court and party. Among others, he had much communication with
lord Spencer and Mr Pelham, who were, in case of a regency, to have
been trusted with the government of Ireland. A letter to Mr Day,
written on the 5th of December, shows that Mr Grattan was at the
moment speculating on the representation of the county of Dublin, or
of Wicklow.

At this time, there was discernible, the commencement of a strong
political reaction in Ireland. Looking abstractedly on the outline
of the events which we have had hitherto to relate, such was to be
anticipated. An extraconstitutional force, from which in a state of
things itself anomalous, many benefits had been derived, still continued
to exist. And with it began to be infused other elements of a far
more formidable character. It became evident to statesmen, that a
change of a dangerous character was to be guarded against; that
the patriotism of a few would become subservient to the designs of
many, and the folly of the moveable multitude. It became a fair and
doubtful question, whether the undisciplined democratic spirit of
Ireland would be content with stopping short of any length of self-
assertion; and the whole state of appearances was such as to suggest
to cautious tempers, the applicability of the old wise maxim of obsta
principiis. Whether such was a perfectly warrantable sentiment, it
is not our part to say. But we think it most essential to put forward,
a consideration strongly suggested by the whole course of events, as
the ground on which we shall be compelled to take our stand, in justice
to several statesmen who are unfairly dealt with in party writings.
In this place we shall only add, that adopting such a construction, we
on the other side agree so far with popular writers, as to admit that
the principle may have been acted on with a vigour and promptness far
too irrespective. This too is what must be expected in human policy;
statesmen have not in many instances a clear view of the very principles
on which they act; their conduct is regulated by maxims and partial
CxXperiences and views of expediences; and far more of the nature of
impressions than of inferences drawn by exact reasoning from well-
defined principle. Such reasonings though easy in speculation which
can shape the question, and exclude the cloud of circumstances, be-
comes enormously difficult, when the real facts are to be extricated
from the confusion and vagueness of social phenomena; and when the
character and effect of probable incidents are to be taken into account.
But we have to remind our reader, that our task is not to decide on
the effects of human conduct, but to settle as well as we may the
character of the agents. It is enough for us to show that an imputed

382 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

offence may have been an error in judgment, should we be compelled
to stop at such a point.

At this point of our history, a change is discernible in the temper
of the administration ; and in the conduct of many who supported
them in Ireland. This change has been treated with much patriotic
indignation, and we think unfairly. But it ought perhaps to be
enough to say, that strong and violent exactions and requisitions which
wore the menace of being boundless ; combined with some portentous
assertions of a self-will not very reconcilable with the future security
or agreement of the two kingdoms, were enough to call forth the
usual irrespective violence of party.

In the spirit thus conjectured, several very needful measures pro-
posed by Mr Grattan and his friends were now rejected, and the
leading supporters of government began to assume a more decided
tone of resistance.

The regency question came on. Its discussion was calculated to lead
to conclusions highly prejudicial to the claim of Irish independence.
It was not merely an exceedingly indiscreet and vapouring flourish of
independence, committed with a very manifest want of prudence ; but
it indicated consequences of indefinite risk. It is no extenuation to
show that it could then have no worse effect than to call down on
Ireland the resentment (real or imaginary,) of a most crushing party ;
nor is it any defence to suppose cases. It is enough that it showed the
whole extent of a schism between the legislature of Ireland, and the
government (legislative and executive,) of Great Britain, when cir-
cumstances might arise to call it forth and render it fatal. — But we
must return to these considerations — they belong to the entire con-
cluding portion of this period. — Should any one think that we are
dealing with these topics, in a manner too brief and peremptory, we
must refer them to the memoir of Theobald Wolf Tone, which we
shall devote to a full illustration of the political changes and oc-
currences, which we here but advert to as having some influence on
the life and conduct of Mr Grattan. — It will now be enough to
observe, that it becomes evident at this particular period, that the
policy of government with regard to Ireland became changed in its
objects, and consequently in its instrumentalities and the whole plan
of procedure adopted. Whether the conclusion on which they acted
was rightly or wrongly inferred, it had been inferred from the whole
course of the events which we have related, and from every apparent
indication, that there was no prospect of realizing the views entertained
for Ireland, by the better and more rational of her friends. Everything
that was to be seen or heard, seemed to proclaim that the country
and its people were far behind the state of maturity adapted to the
views of those patriotic and worthy but enthusiastic persons, who had
so ably fought her battles in the senate. There were in Ireland, it
must be acknowledged, men of learning and genius; there was a
polished aristocracy; but in the full sense of the term, there was some
reason to suspect that a public was yet wanting, — that though there
was a populace, it was yet doubtful whether there was a civilized
people. Whatever was just in the language of complaint seemed at
a distance to be so mixed up with mischievous extravagance and

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTA.N. 383

frivolous exaction and assumption; the language of triumph and
gratitude came across the Irish channel so strangely crossed by de-
mocratic menace and denunciation, that it is not fairly to be complained
of if the British minister began to conclude that he must find some
other way to reduce the torrent to the barriers of civil subjection.
He may have erred in judgment, but nearer troubles had already
begun to menace, and it was no time for coquetting with an intract-
able democracy. Such was the outward aspect of appearances.

But making these concessions to the fallibility of human judgment,
and these allowances for Mr Pitt; whatever was the principle, a
change of policy was adopted. This change was not conformable
with Mr Grattan's view of Irish policy, and he rightly directed his
efforts against it. It may be asserted that if his policy could have
been fairly carried out in its whole extent, the results would have
been the best for Ireland, while at the same time, it is open to every
doubt as to the possibility of effecting those better purposes. Sup-
posing that with one hand he could have swayed the legislature — it
was necessary that with the other he should have calmed the agitated
wave of factious commotion, and silenced the noisy, designing, and
plotting tongues that kept it alive. He could not, however, be ex-
pected to wind and turn with the counsels of those persons who, it
must be confessed, thought more of the British empire than of Ireland;
and still less could it be presumed that he would consent to be
mingled in spirit with the less scrupulous details of the new policy.

In 1790, Mr Grattan was chosen representative of the city of
Dublin. In this year, in addition to the changes generally intimated
in the foregoing paragraphs, the catholic question is properly said to
have had its commencement. As other memoirs may compel us to
enter upon this in somewhat more detail, we shall not dwell upon
them here. It will suffice to say that Mr Grattan's conduct was,
during this interval of his life, which we have thus so slightly glanced
through, marked with the same uniform spirit of uncompromising
opposition to the policy of which he disapproved, the same strenuous
exertion for the welfare of his country, and the same clear separation
from the low, frantic, visionary, and spurious patriotism which, as we
shall prove was really the origin of all the disasters of the country;
neutralizing men like Mr Grattan, and only advancing the interests of
venality and unscrupulous ambition.

In the interval occupied by this session, there were many incidents
of very considerable interest and importance. We shall have occa-
sion to notice them further on.

In 1797> Mr Grattan, who in the interval had taken the lead of his
party in a more ostensible manner than perhaps at any former period,
finding the impossiblity of pursuing the same uncompromising line of
conduct he had till then preserved, seceded from parliament. His
motives have been explained by himself at a later period of his life.
" The reason why we seceded was, that we did not approve of the
conduct of the united men, and we could not approve of the conduct
of the government. We were afraid of encouraging the former by
making speeches against the latter, and we thought it better in such
a case, as we could support neither, to withdraw from both."

384 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

It was a moment of severe contention when the struggle between
parties was at its height; and when many of those lesser considera-
tions which in ordinary times govern the actions of men, were forced
to be laid aside. The magnitude of the evils apprehended ; their under-
working, secret and indefinite nature ; the certainty of a widely diffused
conspiracy ; the general emergencies which rendered disaffection more
than commonly dangerous, were objects which prescribed means of a
decisive and strenuous character. It was no time for standing upon
principles, when all principle was ready to be shaken; the constitution
owes no justice to an armed and conspiring faction, but the justice of
felony and treason. An emergency not fully estimated by the wisest
men of Mr Grattan's party, and at the present hour not very pre-
cisely allowed for but by a few, gave to the counsels of the British
minister their utmost vigour, and an external aspect of desperation ; a
gathering revolution; an empire divided against itself; a wide spread
and powerfully organized conspiracy in full communication with the
enemies of England. Such was the aspect of the more enlarged field
of vision which presented itself to Mr Pitt. The very fact that one
so respected, and generally so rightly appreciated by the best men of
every party, as Mr Grattan, having fallen for a moment into suspicion,
may help to indicate the real force of the suspicions then entertained.
That the suspicion of his having any connexion with the United Irish-
men was wholly erroneous, we are fully convinced. Against it we put
the whole tenor of an honourable life; the man who freely sacrificed
the popularity he loved, sooner than assent to the first pardonable
deviation of the volunteers, with whom he was himself bound in common
honour and common views, was not the accomplice of the low, enraged,
and criminal fanatics who had conspired against the peace and honour
of Ireland. Against such a charge, the character and word of one
whose mind had no peculiarity more eminent than its truth, is with us
enough. It is enough that Mr Grattan denied the imputation.

We do not, however, enter into the opinions of those, who found
any portion of Mr Grattan's vindication on their hostile views of the
character and conduct of the opposite party. To these a debt of jus-
tice is indeed due, and has been rendei'ed difficult by the load of mis-
representation, unparalleled in history which oppresses their memory.
Faction has long taken up its position on the graves of the most
eminent opponents of Mr Grattan — and the very texture of our political
idiom in this country, is perplexed and entangled with calumnious re-
collections. These men and topics cannot be satisfactorily opened in
a slight sketch — we cannot say in a few plain words, what will need
so much previous statement and explanation to venture upon. In some
of the succeeding memoirs, we shall endeavour to show at some length,
that concurrently with the events noticed in this, there was a con-
cealed progress of operations working to the most fatal ends, and
embracing by no slow degrees the whole popular mind of the kingdom.
That Mr Grattan was ignorant of this, may without any derogation
from his real merits be easily believed. To this many causes might
contribute along with a disposition to think well of those to whom he had
been a chosen leader, — he heard from them the language which ex-
pressed his own sentiments, for they whose aim was Revolution, in this

PERIOD.] HENRY G RATTAN. 385

instance as in most others, simply avowed a desire for reform. — But
his opponents judged more severely, and as will be hereafter seen, more
justly, of what was passing-; hence their suspicions cannot wholly be
condemned. At this period (and this cannot be too strongly impressed
on the reader,) the minds of men were heated by no ordinary party
struggle ; a strife far different even in its objects from the common
contentions of public men had nearly reached the highest pitch of ex-
asperation. It was not, as it now seems to be thought, a merely political
strife of encroachment on one side, and patriotism on the other, but
a rough trial of strength on the edge of Revolution in England, and of
bloody rebellion, heightened by the terror of invasion, in Ireland ; the
season of concessions, conciliations, and discussions, had wholly passed
away, and the courtesies and decorums which smooth the brow of
faction, and soften the collisions of human pride, passion, and self-
interest, had disappeared as under such circumstances they ever will.
Mr Pitt, who is accused of not having been a friend to Ireland — but
who had in reality done all that friendship dared venture in her behalf,
was more a friend to England ; but had come to the conclusion which
he acted on with the rigid and stern determination which was his
virtue. This conclusion we have stated, and shall again more largely.
Mr Pitt was, however, but imperfectly acquainted with the real state of
Ireland; it would carry us too far from our present intent to show that
he could not easily have understood it. But lord Clare who was on the
field of strife — who held the same rule of policy on the same grounds, but
whose fears, jealousies, and passions, as well perhaps as his personal as-
perities, were more immediately acted upon and enlisted into the strug-
gle— may have acted in a temper more coloured with human gall. We
find, as men, no fault with this ; when men are in duty and wisdom
called on to act a rough and an unpopular part, they must be high
indeed above the ordinary level of mankind, if their passions do not
become engaged. They are menaced, taunted, and misrepresented, by
their opponents. They do not appeal to the public; their adversaries
do ; and in their entire language, there is implied that they are the
supporters and victims of a righteous cause, and their silent and stern
opponents, the advocates and actors of everything wrong, base, and
criminal. Such language, echoed and re-echoed by the popular press,
and loaded with exaggerations, falsehoods, and complaints, grow into
popular opinion, supported by a long-drawn tissue of denials and
assertions: while the real state of the facts is unknown ; while cabinets
maintain secrecy; and while the temperate and moderate are silent,
so much is said, and so much becomes believed, that even the friends
and partisans of the unpopular policy become ashamed to support it.
Even the humanity of the good is enlisted in misrepresentation. The
martyrs to their own folly and want of principle, must be remem-
bered with charity; poetry weaves garlands for their graves; their
names become associated with liberty and other virtues, to which
they pretended: it would seem profanation to do them strict justice.
Their just judges; the wisdom by which they were baffled; the strict
justice by which they were condemned, cannot be cleared from the
load of misrepresentation under which it has been overlaid, without
seeming to strike down the laurels from the monument of the rebel
VOL. v. 2 B

386 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

or the bloodthirsty fanatic. Had Robespierre been cut off but a stage
earlier in his career, and had the French revolution been staid in the
outset of its disastrous course, many an atrocious name that sleeps in
its infamy would have been deeply blazoned in the scroll of the
patriot's memory. Generally, the maintenance of civil order, elicits
no imagination, and awakens no enthusiasm : the passions of mankind
are all on the side of error and crime ; the poet and the rhetorician
have ever, and will ever find it easier to be brilliant on the side of
human vice and folly, than in the rank of stern and rigid right. Our
duty is even justice, and we cannot allow the praise or the defence of
Mr Grattan to rest on these quicksands. He must stand on his pro-
per merits, and well he may ; and his faults must be excused on true
grounds. He was virtually the hero of 1782: he had at that me-
morable period of Irish history, by great and singular exertions,
achieved a constitution for his country; he had, to use his own char-
acteristic language, watched over it in its cradle; he had promoted
and fostered its growth; he was doomed to witness its premature
decline and death. It was not for him to look with calm impartial
statesmanship on the passing away of the splendid structure of his
genius and patriotism. It was not for him, with more than the stern
virtue of Brutus, to sit in judgment on the child of his better days,
and to bid the lictors bind their victim to the stake. His blindness
was parental; we might have revered the philosopher, but we should
less have loved the man. Mr Grattan's heart was composed of no
such rigid material; in him tenderness, devotion, and zeal, were the
native elements ; he would have died to raise and honour Ireland,
but he could not play the stern judge when she stood before the
bar of state to be tried on her claim to the very benefits and honours
he had himself won for her. It is no impeachment of the wisdom
of Mr Grattan, that he of all men looked on with sorrow and in-
dignation, when the project of the Union began to be seriously enter*
tained. Having at this time entered parliament expressly for the
purpose of resisting it, we find him in common with several other
worthy and able men, in what must now appear to be a false posi-
tion ; that is, pledged by their connexions, or by their opinions, to
offer a very violent opposition to measures, which, coolly and impar-
tially seen, must appear to have been imperatively called for by every
consideration. One thing must be observed with regret, that their
speeches, and those of Mr Grattan among the rest, are deeply inter-
mixed with the particular error we have already described. Error is
to be found on either side; but the errors of Mr Grattan, and his
friends, are unhappily tinged with the glow of animosity, and barbed
with the point of indignant and bitter satire. It was indeed unfortu-
nate that there was ground enough to provoke severity ; but the seve-
rity was indiscriminately lavished on the men, the measure, and the
means. None acquainted with the true history of that period, and tak-
ing the whole question in all its bearings into account, will now con-
cur in the sense of the numerous flights of democratic eloquence,
which occur in his speeches at this period. Under the influence of
the combination of motives and impressions, which we have here endea-
voured to expound, it is quite evident that, however erroneously, it

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 387

was then not inexcusable if the leaders of the g-overnment party did
entertain suspicion of Mr Grattan: the position in which he stood to
the democratic party was one which, to persons of less firmness, has
been ever found to be of a very controlling nature; and, what is not
enough noticed, Mr Grattan's strong and not very precisely weighed
expressions, were highly favourable to such suspicions. The orna-
ments of his rhetoric, turned into plain prose and tested by principle,
were by no means consistent with his real conduct, and real senti-
ments. The rebellion which he uniformly deprecated, regretted, and
kept aloof from, might have found itself justified in his language
often enough. And the opponents with whom he had at the moment
to contend, themselves heated by the influence of circumstances,
neglected to make the usual allowance for a rhetoric, to which those
circumstances lent the unhappy effect of fact and reasoning. In the
heat of that fierce contention, — which cannot be correctly appreciated
by any one who does not contemplate the disasters which menaced
the British Empire, and overturned Europe at the time, — men laid
aside ordinary courtesies, and grounds of allowance: the common
rules of administration were superseded by urgent necessities ; and
men acted and felt, as they ever have and will, under the sense of
great peril and emergency.

Mr Grattan's reappearance in the house of commons was welcomed
by the loud and triumphant gratulation of his party. By his oppon-
ents, it was received with anxious apprehension, and a resolution, if
possible, to put him down. This was however beyond their power.
He was not to be intimidated or repressed, and the emotion of de-
fiance perhaps gave added energy and effect to his conduct. His
language was excepted against, and termed treasonable ; he repeated
it with redoubled force and distinctness. The chancellor of the
exchequer attempted to cope with him at his own weapon; he received
a memorable lesson, that years had not relaxed or chilled the terrible
power under which Mr Flood had been forced to writhe and wither.
The collision between Mr Grattan and Mr Corry is yet one of the
store anecdotes of conversation, — it is to be met in numerous publica-
tions. We shall therefore only state the principal incidents.

Mr Grattan's language had been so strong, that the consequence
then usually attendant upon such incidents was generally expected by
all present. Mr Grattan himself, on sitting down, observed to general
Hutchinson, who sat near him, that he had seen Mr Corry look sig-
nificantly at colonel Cradock, and expressed his own wish to be pre-
pared with a friend to meet the arrangement thus portended. The
Speaker made an effort to interpose his counsel; this, however, was con-
fined to private admonition, and could have scarcely been intended
to produce any effect. Mr Grattan observed that he had perceived
for some time that a set had been made against him, to pistol him off
the question, and that the experiment might as well be tried then as
at any other time.

The arrangements were completed without interruption, and the
parties proceeded to a field near Ball's Bridge, next morning. It was
agreed that they should fire each at his own option. On the first fire.
Mr Grattaa's ball passed through Mr Corry's coat. The second was

388 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

attended by peculiar circumstances, as neither intended to return the
other's fire, and consequently when the word was given, there was no
fire. Mr Corry then proposed that they should pledge themselves on
honour to fire together. On firing, Mr Corry was hit on the left
hand, which he had placed so as to guard his right side; and thus
perhaps a severer wound was prevented. The affair was thus ter-
minated before the house of commons had yet risen from the debate.

After the Union, Mr Grattan lived for some years in domestic re-
tirement. But in the year 1805, he was returned to parliament for
a borough ; and in the following year for Dublin. In the British
parliament, his appearance was accompanied by the curiosity and
anxiety generally attendant on such occasions. There existed among
his friends some degree of apprehension about him, founded on the
general observation that many eminent orators of the Irish parliament
had, on being translated to the English, fallen far below expectation.
The style of Mr Grattan had indeed in it much to awaken such fears — •
it had the fault of being excessively rhetorical : it was the antetype of
that most vicious school of oratory, which afterwards sprung up in
Ireland, but with this vast difference in its favour — Mr Grattan's style
was framed in conformity with the moral and intellectual cast and
temper of his mind ; he possessed a peculiar method of seeing and
shaping his materials; he had even a peculiar selection in the charac-
ter of those materials; used peculiar artifices in presenting them to
hearers ; and an intense sense of the feelings and intellect of those to
whom his language was addressed. He did not aim to be adorned —
pungent and epigrammatic; but all that passed the workshop of his
reason and fancy, or was distilled in the alembic of his strong in-
dignation, came forth attired by fancy, or framed in epigram. These
were his own native inborn talents; he did not like his followers seek
them ; to his subject he gave the whole serious attention of a saga-
cious observation and prompt clear discrimination. There could be no
just fear of his failure. In the British parliament he was to come into
comparison with orators who had cultivated a more classical style, a
few too of higher and broader intellectual power: but none likely to
be so powerful or effective, where mere effect was to be produced.
His efforts were mainly confined to certain questions ; on the popular
side of which, he had long attained the mastery of a clear and full
possession; and his great power, which lay in the most effective use
of his materials, enabled him to avail himself of this, by a forcible and
brilliant method, which arranged, condensed, and pointed his state-
ment, so that they at times appear to contain more arguments than
sentences.

His debut as a speaker in the British parliament was perhaps
slightly clouded by the novelty of the situation, and a sympathy with
the fears of others. Mr Pitt was intently watched by every eye — he
seemed for a while uncertain : but as the orator proceeded, and gathered
something of his wonted heat and vigour, the doubts disappeared from
the premier's brow, and he was at length heard to express his approval
in a strong exclamation which was heard by those who surrounded
him. The expression operated as a decision. The approbation of the
minister led the judgment of the house, and put an end to any ques-

PERIOD.] HENHY GRATTAN. 389

tions which might arise as to his rank as au orator. " Grattan him-
self," says the ablest of his biographers, "could not have been without
his apprehensions. His style of speaking was altogether different from
that to which his new hearers had been habituated. He had neither the
masculine energy of Fox, nor the lucidus ordo of Pitt ; the rich
imaginative vein of Burke, his profound philosophy, his magnificent
amplification ; the sportive, epigrammatic fancy of Sheridan ; nor the
sterling good sense of Windham, which could not be spoiled even by
his own inglorious and fanciful refinements. He was a creature of
altogether a different species from any with which that assembly had
been previously acquainted."*

The catholic question may be said to have engrossed the remainder
of his life. We do not mean to discuss this question, and for this
reason shall not enter very precisely into the details of its history.
It is a question, which it would be rash to consider as yet concluded,
or its power to agitate these countries at an end. The few remarks
which we must needs make must be directed to the statement of what
we consider to be the question ; this we must do. because we feel bound
to say, that the advocates of the Roman church have always more or
less displaced their case from its proper grounds ; and for very
obvious reasons, the mistake was not corrected by their clients. The
question has been simply argued on two main grounds, viz., that of
common and equal right, and secondly, the consideration of certain
objections founded on the history and the supposed principles of the
same class. Now, whatever may be the decision to which equity and
expediency should come, in the adjustment of the whole question,
correctly weighed; these are not the real and proper grounds on
which it stands, with those who understand it, among whom we can-
not place the illustrious subject of this memoir. This question has no
essential connexion with the religious opinions or practices of a class,
or their political affection pro tempore. The right of opinion, and the
freedom of worship have never been, in recent generations, the direct
subject of question among persons of any information or authority;
nor has the loyalty of the Romanist community, been the actual point
in dispute. The real ground of the question — and it could never be
rationally discussed on any other — is as to an external jurisdiction
claimed and admitted, over the conscience and conduct, such as
should under circumstances, be exerted in direct opposition to
those laws under which their civil rights subsist, — the only really
admissible question as to the existence and extent of such a power.
Once admitting its existence, no lawyer, no jurist, will venture
to say that such a power is not in all justice liable to be restricted
or abated, by the universal self-preserving right which is a primary
law of every polity; nor will any one pretend to say that a class
subjected to such a power, can equitably claim equality of rights
and immunities under a system of polity to which their allegiance is
imperfect. Under such assumptions, the assertion of their loyalty
would be inadmissible; it may suit the present polity of their extern
sovereign ; nor is the distinction which might be set up to meet such

* Dublin University Magazine, No. 39.

390 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTll

a statement of this question of any real value; namely, that hetween
civil and spiritual allegiance. The argument from this distinction is
overthrown by all precedent; it is just specious enough to impose on
perfect ignorance. To be sure, persons of high education, the duke
of Norfolk, or the earl of Shrewsbury, may be well supposed to have
arrived at some prudent estimate of the limits of two opposing systems
of requisition ; but the absolute command of the conscience, is, all the
world over, the absolute command of the man. In former times, as
has been shown in these volumes, such a power has been exerted in this
realm. For a long interval it has been passing through a phase of
weakness and depression, in which its interest has been to conciliate ;
and in no case has this interest been more obvious than with regard
to England. But perhaps it might be shown by an adversary, that
this expediency might be expected to pass away; it would then become
a question, where is the security against a power of which it is the
boast, that it is not subject to any change of principles. It is not the
loyalty of the people — the scriptural conformity of their religion,
that ever was to be weighed in the balance of state equity; but the
probable and possible policy of the conclave — the absolute and un-
controlled empire of the confessional. The question has been decided
for better or worse, or we should here have passed it in silence. We
have now no apprehension of giving offence to any class of our
readers. The church of Rome has lifted up its head, and, no longer
depressed by the policy of caution, can afford to be candid. The
argument which was some years since a perilous objection, is now an
open pretension involved in the language of those who are to be
considered as its accredited organs.

Our object here, in these remarks, is simply to account for not
following Mr Grattan through this part of his career, or entering with
any fulness on the arguments he used, or the views he had of the
question.

Mr Grattan conducted himself with consummate prudence and good
taste as a member of the imperial parliament. He avoided the colli-
sions, with the matter-of-fact and perfunctory spirit of the house,
which would be the unavoidable result of frequent speeches. His
force lay in eloquence which requires occasions of deep interest, and
for such in general he reserved his powers.

His courage and true independence, of which we have had to re-
late instances in the former stages of his life, were again nobly shown
in the debate on the Irish insurrection bill, in 1807- The conse-
quence was the same as in former times, when he provoked the ani-
mosity of the volunteers by the same disinterested and independent
rectitude of conduct. This honourable and manly course was, in the
latter instance, fully appreciated, and won him the respect and rever-
ence of all on every side, who could appreciate that which was high
and dignified in the character of a public man. The last and perfect
test of patriotism which stamps it genuine, and distinguishes the
patriot from his base counterfeit — the highest from the lowest,
is the contempt of popularity. And this is the crown of Mr Grattan's
illustrious record : that he was devoted to the service of his country,
and while he fought her battles and was repaid with her applause,

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 391

he could turn and rebuke her crimes and scorn her capricious
humours.

Again, in 1815, he was placed in a position of similar trial by the
strong tone of dictation which the Roman catholic board had assumed
towards its advocates. He became entangled in a difference with
them on the well-known question of " the veto," and his unpopularity
soon rose to a high and tumultuous pitch. In the general election of
1818, when he stood for the city of Dublin, a riotous attempt was made
upon his life. It was generally supposed to have been by previous
arrangement, that he was furiously attacked by the rabble, as he was
borne in a chair (as successful candidate,) over Carlisle bridge. The
design, it is thought, was to throw him into the Liffey. He was,
happily, surrounded by friends of a higher class, and consequently of
nobler mettle than the assailants, who were repelled without any great
difficulty — a missile however found its way to his person, and he was
severely cut. He caught the ignominious weapon in his hand, and with
tranquil scorn tossed it back among the base and cowardly crowd.

His efforts for the service of his countrymen sustained no diminu-
tion to the last. Though stung by much ingratitude, and, perhaps,
pained by being insultingly set aside by those for whose interests he
was the foremost, as he had been the most constant advocate; he was
not repelled by unlundness. But still, striving with the fast increas-
ing infirmities of age, he stood forward in the foremost rank. In 1 819>
he again introduced the catholic question, with a vigour and effect
worthy of his best days.

As his motion had been lost but by two votes, it seemed evident that
the triumph of his labours was at hand. The next effort might crown
his life with the much and eagerly desired success. With this feeling,
the near approach — we might say, the visible menace of death stand-
ing before him on the road — could not deter his profound zeal and
his noble courage. Surrounded by the strong remonstrances of his
friends, and his physicians, he embarked for England with his family.

He reached London, but never again took his place in parliament.
He died at his house in Baker Street, May, 1820. He was honoured
with a public funeral, and a place in Westminster Abbey.

A man like Grattan might demand some general account of his
person, manners, attainments, with some summary estimate of his
powers. Our space does not admit of this justice; but if it did, we
must confess that the task has been rendered insurmountably difficult,
by the excellence of the portraiture which has been already given of
him, by two writers, who appear, both in manner and matter, to have
done the fullest justice to the subject. Lord Brougham's description
may be found either in his own work, or where it has been very fitly
reprinted, in Mr Grattan's life by his son. Another not less true, just,
and full, may be found in a still more accessible source — in the memoir
already quoted, in the Dublin University Magazine, which, in the style
of the press, we may term our able and spirited contemporary. The
mind once preoccupied by these two full and forcible delineations must
become preoccupied by their strong lines of tint and feature, and can
no more work freely on the same tracks. Without pretending there-
fore to exercise our own criticism on the subject, we shall here simply

392 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

bring together the several traits which, in our perusal of his letters,
his speeches, and political conduct, and the varied incidents which are
related of him, have distinctly impressed themselves upon our notice.
But we must premise, that the delineation of character, always difficult,
is in this instance peculiarly so. It is always difficult to mark with
truth the shades of interfusion which blend, and the still more evanes-
cent boundaries which separate, the numerous and varied oppositions,
and inconsistencies which meet in the same man. If thrown together,
as is not unusual, into the see-saw of regular antithesis, a figure espe-
cially suited to the portraiture of mind, these must too often appear
unaccountable, and be attributed to rhetoric more than distinct obser-
vation. If, on the contrary, they are stated with a more diffuse regard
to the moral laws of human character, they must be expanded by dis-
quisition and become too subtle and refined for interest. These remarks
seem to us more especially to apply to Mr Grattan ; the moral and intel-
lectual frame of whose mind seems cast on a regular scale of antithesis.
If we were to describe Burke — notwithstanding the pre-eminence of
his powers, and the force of his moral temper — we should convey one
impression in few, and those by no means refined touches: excelling
others, his excellences grew out of the magnitude, the intensity, and
the fulness of those powers, which separately distinguish other great
men; but to the utmost extent to which observation can reach, he is
the same throughout. We can speak of his lofty and bright imagina-
tion which approaches him to Milton — of his profound speculation and
vast knowledge which equals him to Bacon — of his comprehensive
benevolence which places him by the side of Howard. The over-
concentrated energy of the moral sense, out of which so much to
be admired and regretted had its rise, can be more or less identified
in all the acts of his life. The magnificent resemblance demands
no skilful joining, no nice and subtle distinction. If we find great
strength tempered by infirmity, still the qualities are in themselves
distinct; the one is not a nice deduction from the intrinsic amount
of the other. And thus that great and various mind is intelligible
in the whole of its range, to the commonest observation. Like some
harmonious physiognomy, its features tell together, and it commu-
nicates one impression to the eye. In looking attentively on Mr
Grattan, it is otherwise. On every compartment of his mind, there
is somewhat peculiar which compels the reader to pause and think —
for the purpose of reconciling him to himself. The power and the
weakness, the virtue and the infirmity, are side by side, and coexist in
the same province of the mind. It would be a task of some length to
convey in ordinary terms the precise structure of intellect which
could narrow and obscure the political perceptions of so powerful an
intellect, in some of the most earnest ends of his public life, while
so much admirable skill, judgment, and prudence, appear uniformly in
the means. His political theory, if theory he possessed, was evidently
composed out of the common mixture of maxims and fallacies of the
multitude; and out of this frequently arises the keenness and the force
of his rhetoric. His enthymeme, if not just, is the error of his hearers
also — he has the impression of the crowd on his side ; he has nothing
to pave the way for, nothing to distinguish; his blow can be struck,

PERIOD.] HENRY GRATTAN. 393

or his reason given in a keen-edged glittering sentence. Hence the
speciousness of the argument and the withering power of the invective.
In the most efficient of his appeals to reason, or his most keen in-
flictions of severity, it may be found on critical examination, that
there is far more in the manner than the matter. And such, indeed,
is one of the chief causes of the pithy sententiousness of style in which
there seem as many reasons as sentences.

To the same class of difficulties may be assigned the exceeding
industry with which he made himself master of the most laborious
details, when contrasted with the incompleteness of a research so
anxious and scrupulous. But his keen sagacity, guided by no breadth
of view, was exerted within a prescribed compass : he set out with
preconceptions of his result and a predetermined plan, and found the
information only which it required. But among these sources of error
there was no sordid bias: just, benevolent and patriotic, his failings
were not vices, but the imperfections of great virtues and great
powers. Fortunately perhaps for his glory, the first stages of his
public life were engaged in efforts precisely suited to his nature: the
wrongs with which he had to cope, demanded no philosophy to define
or destroy; they demanded untiring energy — unflinching courage —
incorruptible honour, and overwhelming eloquence. They also de-
manded judgment, tempei'ance, and the influence with all parties
which such qualities can acquire and preserve. And these belonged
in a pre-eminent sense to Mr Grattan.

It has been observed by various persons, in various tones of praise
or censure, that Mr Grattan's character was mellowed and matured
in the British parliament. His native good sense, his shrewdness of
tact and habitual observation, together with the critical discernment
which in cultivated minds is the probable result of such qualities,
were doubtless not exercised in vain. Other concurring influences
might be pointed out, as well as incidental circumstances tending to
the same effect. But we are compelled to be brief.

For the estimate of the moral conformation of Mr Grattan, the
reader of his life will be forcibly struck by indications of the same
character which we have ascribed to his intellect. And what is more
curious, the same combination of opposite characters will be traced
very legibly on the features of his face. The writer of his memoir in
the Dublin University Magazine, gives a pleasing and true descrip-
tion of the peculiar, bland, playful, gentle and cordial manner and
temper, which gave a charm to his whole address and conversation in
private life: the representation is borne out with even unusual uni-
formity by those who have been among his intimates. In his own house
he was utterly free from the consciousness of his own claim, and earnest
alone in imparting hospitality and good-will, and communicating self-
confidence to those who required it. To draw forth intelligence in
others, was his habitual gift — and we have heard a young person of con-
siderable intelligence who had on the same day been his guest, ob-
serve ; that he felt his own mind brightened by the contact with that
of his host. Yet with all this overflow of the most kindly sympathies,
it seems equally apparent, that there was in his temper a strong and

394 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

abundant vein of the most concentrated gall. The same writer above
referred to has well pointed out this contrast, and his description of
this latter incident is too forcible and true, to be offered in any language
but his own. Having given equally true sketches of wbat Chatham
and Burke would have done under the same circumstances, this writer
goes on: — "But when Grattan's rage was provoked, the destruction of
his victim was as inevitable, as if he came within the spring of a tiger.
There were no compunctious relentings about him, by which his con-
suming wrath might be assuaged or mitigated. He seemed to put off
all humanity, and to concentre every power of his mind, and every
faculty of his soul, upon the utter annihilation of that obnoxious being
who had been so unfortunate as to provoke his indignation. This
gave him at all times a character of ruthless asperity, which was
strangely contrasted with the amenity and gentleness by which, in his
general intercourse with society, he was so benignly distinguished."*

The contrast is not unusual in human character: and most persons
may find illustrations on a lesser scale. Love and hatred combine
often in their deepest excess in the same temperament, and seem to
have a fearful affinity for each other, the origin of many tragedies.
They are divorced by the religion of the gospel alone.

It would, nevertheless, be unfair not to make one more observa-
tion. Every one must at once feel, and admit, that the vehemence of
the orator, swelling in the triumph of his art and power, is perhaps
too strong and violent an index for the feelings of the man.

!£&mon& £*.ttott ^err— Eorfc

BORN A. D.

EDMOND SEXTON PERRY was the eldest son of the Rev. Stackpole
Perry; and his family are mentioned as having been respectable in the
city of Limerick. He was bred to the law; and, like most eminent
lawyers of his day, presently came into parliament. He first obtained
a seat in 1751, and soon became distinguished for eloquence, and still
more for knowledge, judgment, and sagacity, of a high order.

In 1771, Mr Pousonby resigned the chair of the House, to avoid
delivering a complimentary address to the lord lieutenant, which under
the circumstances he deemed inconsistent with the dignity of the
House. In his room Mr Perry was elected, and continued from this
date till 1785, to fill that station.

Most of the great measures in favour of the trade and people of
Ireland during the interval, were either suggested by his advice, or
materially aided by his influence. The following is Mr Grattan's
description of him : — " He was more or less a party in all those mea-
sures which the pamphletf condemns ; and, indeed, in every great
statute and measure that took place in Ireland for the last fifty years.
A man of the most legislative capacity I ever knew, and the most

* University Magazine, No. 39. t Lortl Clare's pamphlet.

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 395

comprehensive reach of understanding; with a deep engraven impres-
sion of public care, accompanied by a temper which was adamant. In
his train is every private virtue which can adorn human nature."

In 1785, on his resignation of the chair of the Commons, he was
created viscount Perry of Perry, near Limerick. His lordship having
left no male heir, the title became extinct at his death.

Cone,

BORN A. D. 1763. DIED A. D. 1798.

A MEMOIR of Theobald Wolfe Tone must be the appropriate preface
to the more important part of the history of Ireland which yet re-
mains to be told. It will afford the point of view from which alone
many of its events can be fairly judged of. We may, therefore, we
trust, stand excused for entering on the incidents of Tone's unfor-
tunate and headlong life at more length than may be thought due.
Yet they who have read the ample biography, written by himself and
his son, will recollect, that there are not many instances in which
the lessons of an awful experience are communicated with the same
effect and reality, or in which more true light is cast upon the events
of an eventful time.

As such is the object for which Mr Tone is to be here introduced,
we must premise somewhat to obviate the great injustice which it is
difficult to avoid, in presenting the history of his life in reference to
a course of conduct in which he is to be placed in a disadvantageous
light. Were he a man of a vicious temper, and debased views, like
Sir Phelim O'Neile, a murderer and a brutal despot, urged exclusively
by ambitious interests and sordid passions, we should drag him into the
witness-box without scruple or delicacy. But Tone was a scholar — a
man of the warmest affections and kindliest nature — overflowing with
goodness, gaiety, and all the most companionable qualities in their
highest perfection. Even his misguided patriotism was not without
sincerity, it was simply perverted by the errors of his nature. With
a temper of mind alive to influences — full of passion, pride, restless-
ness— love of adventure, impatience of the sober and trite pursuits
of life, ingenious, quick, and speculative, yet superficial — composed
of those elements, which, according to the direction of a man's
walk, constitute the projector, the visionary, or the plain scamp : he
had the misfortune to be early associated with persons, scenes, and
actions, and to live in days in which these characters were by a curious
infelicity combined. Nearly his first entrance into life, with the
avowed taste and temper of an adventurer, brought him into a circle
deeply tainted with republicanism in its least sober form.

We premise these remarks emphatically, because we must confine
our present sketch to the task of tracing him through much that
is to be condemned — much imprudence and want of principle — a dis-
honesty of purpose — and, indeed, a perversion so entire of that por-
tion of the moral sense which is supposed to intimate the practical
differences between right and wrong, that there appears a proud un-

396 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiiTH

consciousness in his avowals of the most flagitious views. It is neces-
sary, to understand this, not to form a meaner opinion of Tone than
he deserves : he is in all things guided according to a standard of his
own, formed by degrees in the course of an unregulated and adven-
turous mode of life, in which his natural predilection for a kind of
vagrant and scheming activity which is the marked feature of his eccen-
tric disposition, leads him into habits, associations, and rules of conduct,
such as might best belong to such a life. This is a slight outline of a
picture to be filled up from the life given of himself by Mr Tone and
his son, with a degree of frankness and candour of which they, neither
of them, seem to be fully aware. Seeing all things in a light of their
own, and having their own modes of right and wrong, with the help
of a good deal of the revolutionary philosophy which then infected
Europe, he and his friends erred with the pride and dignity of Roman
virtue, and looked with towering scorn on men who were better and
wiser than themselves. They were ready to be the martyrs of their
own sense of honour — to die and shed blood for the vindication of the
rights they believed in. Their honour covered, indeed, a multitude of
sins, in a sense different from the concealments of charity ; and their sense
of right involved treachery, plunder, and wholesale butchery.

Tone's early life, could we relate it here at length, has all the in-
terest of romantic fiction. His father inherited a small leasehold
property near Naas, in the county of Kildare ; he was a coachmaker
in good business in Dublin, when it fell into his hands, and he set it to
a younger brother, which gave rise to litigation, and ended in his ruin.
He had several children all remarkable for the same restless temper
which we have described. Their history also is quite conformabfe to such
a characteristic nature, and is related by their brother. A few touches
may be selected here for the reflex light they cast on the character of
the relater. Speaking of one of his brothers, Mr Tone writes : — " He
is more temperate in all respects than my brother William or myself,
for we both have a strong attachment to pleasure and amusements,
and a dash of coxcombry, from which he is totally free." Of William,
he says — " He wished, himself, having the true vagrant turn of the
family, to go to sea." And, again — " My father and mother were
pretty much like other people ; but from this short sketch, with what
I have to add concerning myself, I think it will appear that their
children were not at all like other people, but have had every one of
them a wild spirit of adventure," &c.

Having been sent to school to a Mr Darling, though he was exceed-
ingly idle, yet by strong desultory efforts, excited by very considerable
love of distinction, he carried away the prizes in every branch of learn-
ing; so that Mr Darling pressed on his father to have him prepared
for college as a boy of very uncommon talents, who would be sure to
obtain a fellowship. This view, he informs us, was also sustained by
the parson of the parish, who was sometimes his examiner, and was
struck by his progress in Euclid. It having been thus determined
that he was to be a fellow, he was transferred to the school of the Rev.
William Craig. At this time his father became so completely ruined
in his commercial affairs, that he was necessitated to quit business and
retire to the country. Still bent on making every sacrifice for a son

PEJUOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 397

whom he had been taught to hope so much for, he determined, out of
his own stinted means, to afford him every advantage. Accordingly,
not being able to place him as a boarder, he settled for his board with
a friend near the school ; and even stretched matters so far as to allow
him some " trifling sum" for his pocket. Having thus far premised, the
only further incident of this part of his life which we shall relate, must be
given in his own words. — " The superintendence of my father being re-
moved, I began to calculate, that, according to the slow rate chalked out
for me by Craig, I could very well do the business of the week in three
days, or even two if necessary, and that, consequently, the other two
were lawful prizes ; I therefore resolved to appropriate three days in
the week at least to my amusements, and the others to school, always
keeping in the latter three the day of repetition, which included the
business of the whole week, by which arrangement I kept my rank
with the other boys of my class. I found no difficulty in convincing
half a dozen of my schoolfellows, of the justice of this distribution of
our time, and by this means we established a regular system of what
is called mitching, and we continued — being some of the smartest boys
at school — to get an ascendancy over the spirit of the master, so that
when we entered the school in a body, after one of our days of relaxa-
tion, he did not choose to burn his fingers with any one of us," &c.
In this little story of schoolboy plotting, and utter insensibility to
considerations of duty or honour, is a brief epitome of the writer's
life. The opportunity from which this juvenile anticipation of United
Irishmen arose, was the ruin of that loving father who had resolved to
spare no. expense upon a son of such fair promise. The time thus
obtained was, indeed, not devoted to any of those vices by which youth
is sometimes led astray — as there was a little more than the usual
method, so there was more than ordinary discretion in the scamping of
this young conspiracy: among other amusements the favourite was a
regular attendance upon all field days and reviews in the Phenix
Park. To this Tone traces the " untameable desire which I ever
since have had to become a soldier." A consequence was, that, as the
time for his entrance into the university drew nigh, his aversion to a
college life increased, and he began to display upon the subject an ob-
stinacy equal to the cunning he had previously employed. A violent
quarrel with his poor father was the consequence, and his record of
this is itself highly characteristic: — "My father was as obstinate as
I, as he utterly refused to give me any assistance to follow my scheme."
When this shameless sentence was written, the writer knew that his
father had made a heavy sacrifice in his own distress to do justice to
the promising abilities of his son — and had just been afflicted and
incensed by the history of his profligate use of so much kindness, and
how wasted it had been. The father was " obstinate," and the son,
who had thus outparalleled the prodigal in the parable, was compelled
to sit down to his studies " with a bad grace," and with some exer-
tion entered the university in his eighteenth year under the Rev. Dr
Matthew Young. This event gave a new impulse to his excitable
temper, and he prepared with industry for his first examination.
In this, too, his evil star prevailed — " 1 happened," he says, " to fall
into the hands of an egregious dunce, one , who, instead of

398 POLITICAL SERIES. [FllTH

giving me the premium, which, as hest answerer, I undoubtedly merited,
awarded it to another," &c. It is right here to observe, that this is
a common complaint, and though by some unusual combination of
accidents it might happen, it is with such exception always false : it is
easy to understand how the very ignorance that causes false answering,
may prompt obstinacy in error, and the assumption of being wronged.
Something of this runs throughout the history of Mr Tone. However,
this matter really was, it gave an unhappy recoil to the vain and irri-
table mind of Tone. He urged his father to equip him as a volunteer
for the American war. " He refused me as before ; and, in revenge,
I would not go near the college, or open a book that was not a mili-
tary one. In this manner we continued for above a twelvemonth, on
very bad terms as may well be supposed, without either party relaxing
an inch from their determination." The full merit of these records
cannot be sufficiently appreciated, unless the reader will bear in mind,
that they are the deliberate records, written sixteen years later, for the
amusement of his own children. In whatever degree he may have
attained the honours of strictly academic industry, it is certain that
the charms of his conversation were acknowledged by his youthful
associates. We have been assured, by some of the most eminent of
his college contemporaries, that his wit was unrivalled by any of those
eminent persons of his time, whose names are still currently associated
with this quality. And this may, to some extent, be perceived in the
style of his diary, in which, at times, under different humours and
excitements, grave or gay, his fancy overflows in playful extravagances,
pouring out, without the ordinary stimulus of hearers, a profuse stream
of sarcasm, humour, fun, and levity, not often equalled. With this
qualification, and a light, seemingly careless, and accommodating good
nature, he made friends of all who approached him. And it was to
these, and to the recollection of these times, that he was afterwards
indebted for serious obligations in after years, when the course into
which he soon deviated was such as to make it hard to comprehend how
he could be so warmly befriended by such men.

Of the remainder of his college course, it will be enough to say, that,
though he had the firmness not to give way to affection or duty, Tone
was brought back to his college studies by the flattering influence of
his friends ; and that his progress was accompanied by the ordinary
result of great talent and small attention; he obtained a scholarship
and three premiums. He was, perhaps, more characteristically distin-
guished by being second in a duel in which the antagonist of his pria-
cipal was shot dead. — Tone was not prosecuted.

In 1785, he became acquainted with a young lady, not sixteen years
of age, who lived in Grafton street with her grandfather, " a rich old
clergyman, of the name of Fanning." He contrived an introduction,
and soon won her affections. The following is the edifying example he
records for his "boys:" — " My affairs now advanced prosperously; my
wife and I grew more passionately fond of each other; and, in a short
time, I proposed to her to marry me, without asking consent of any
one, knowing well it would be in vain to expect it; she accepted the
proposal as frankly as I made it; and one beautiful morning in July,
we ran off together and were married."

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 399

The step was soon forgiven on all sides. But the thoughts of the fel-
lowship were in consequence abandoned, and the bar was adopted in its
stead. Tone graduated in 1786, and resigned his scholarship. Among
the honours which his habits had permitted him to obtain, we should have
mentioned his medals in the historical society — in which he had risen
to the dignity of auditor, which was a post tantamount to the conduct
of all its proceedings, and the highest of any permanence, as it lasted
for the term. A still higher distinction was the appointment to close
the annual session with a speech from the chair.

From the house of his wife's family he represents himself to
have been driven by ill treatment to the home of his father, whose
affection seems to have withstood every shock. Here, in 1786,
an incident occurred, which sets in a very high point of view the
courage and affection of his wife. The house was broken into in
the night by six armed men : they tied the whole family, and
proceeded to pillage for two hours, till a servant maid, having
escaped, gave the alarm, and the ruffians made their escape. Tone,
who had been tied in the court-yard, with a sentinel over him, was
all this time listening in silent horror to the devastation within.
When the robbers fled, he recovered his feet; and in his first attempts
to ascertain the safety of his wife, he was horror-struck at receiving
no answer to his calls. The family, in the distraction of their terrors,
had also made their escape, and had gone a considerable distance
before they thought of him. His wife returned alone in the darkness
of the night — found him, and cut his bonds. " This terrible scene,"
he says, " besides infinitely distressing us by the heavy loss we sus-
tained, and which my father's circumstances could very ill bear, de-
stroyed in a great degree our domestic enjoyments. I slept continually
with a case of pistols under my pillow, and a mouse could not stir,
that I was not on my feet," &c.

Notwithstanding the extreme depression of his circumstances, Tone's
father contrived to scrape together a sum of money to enable his son
to pursue his studies at the Temple. And there could not be a more
urgent case of imperative necessity to call forth every feeling of affec-
tion and every sentiment of rightful duty, and to give strenuous exertion
its utmost impulse, than the situation in which Tone now stood. He was
now no more a mitching schoolboy, who might be (under circumstances
at least) excused — whose want of consideration could be resolved into
want of thought — he was a husband, a father, and an educated man.
The only similarity of circumstances was the distress and parental
affection from which the means for his present object was wrung.
The sacrifice was, indeed, needful, and might be fairly accepted under
the trust and hope of a due return, such as every good mind ever
feels in such a case, and with a due sense also of the interests of
those for whom it had now become his first duty to provide. With
this preface we shall make Tone the relator of his own story: — " I
set off for London, leaving my wife and daughter with my father,
who treated them during my absence with great affection. After a
dangerous passage to Liverpool, wherein we ran some risk of being
lost, 1 arrived in London in January, 1787, and immediately entered
my name as a student at law, on the books of the Middle Temple ; but

400 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

this 1 may say was all the progress I ever made in that profession"
Passing some sentences, he goes on to the nearly incredible declara-
tion— " I was, likewise, amenable to nobody for my conduct; and, in
consequence, after the first, I never opened a law book," &c. Tone
was, as we have stated at the outset, a man of kindly affections and
amiable manners : his wife and he lived many years in happiness to-
gether; but we think it fully apparent that no sense of duty or obliga-
tion— no just regard to any consideration of right and wrong, had
the slightest place in his mind. His goodness was the result of strong
impulse, but he was inconsiderate, and like all inconsiderate men, was
careless, and could be both unjust and cruel in cold detail. Exceed-
ing levity is prominent throughout, and makes him appear better and
worse than the reality.

Anxious to extend his resources, and to maintain the appearance of a
gentleman, Tone now exerted his talents for the purpose, and continued
to extract some pounds by contributions to the magazines, during the
two years of his London sojourn. He was still more indebted to the
generosity of some of his associates, from one of whom, John Steven-
son Hall, he acknowledges to have received £150 in some pecuniary
difficulty. We shall not delay to extract from this fact some very
obvious reflections, which might go to aggravate the strictures already
pronounced.

But under all these circumstances, neither the life of pleasure that
Tone was leading, nor the essential levity of his nature, could conceal
from him that something must be done to save a poor man from penury—
a vain man from utter shame, In the intervals of dissipation, he, perhaps,
recollected the claims of his family, and the expectations of his friends.
He determined upon a great stroke, worthy of his genius, and which
might place him, per saltum, upon the stage of prosperous exaltation.
He formed and drew up proposals for a scheme, for the government
to establish a colony in one of Cook's islands in the South Seas, " in
order to put a bridle on Spain in time of peace, and to annoy her
grievously in that quarter in time of war": — in arranging this plan
he read all books which could throw light on the subject, " and
especially the Buccaniers, who were my heroes, and whom I proposed
to myself as the archetypes of the future colonists." We have only to
add, that he intended himself to play the hero after these classical
models of his selection. Could we within our limits convey to our
readers all that such a plan and such a design imply, we should have
a much simpler task in laying bare the spirit of Tone's life. But the
history of the Buccaniers is not now much known — it is a fearful
illustration of all the worst parts of human nature, and cannot be
studied without disgust or contamination. But we should add, there
are ample indications that the wild and lawless freedom, and the reck-
less spirit of adventure, was the real charm for Mr Tone's mind.

Having reduced his plan to a memorial drawn up with great care
and talent, he sent it to Mr Pitt. Mr Pitt took no notice of it ; and
we are thus conducted to the next point of moment in this memoir.
" It was," says Tone, " my first essay in what I may call politics, and
my disappointment made such an impression on me, as is not yet quite
obliterated. In my anger, I made something like a vow, that if I ever

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 401

had the opportunity, / ivould make Mr Pitt sorry, and perhaps fortune
may yet enable me to fulfil that resolution." When the after circum-
stances of Tone's life are remembered, there is something strangely
solemn in a diary, which some evil genius would seem to have whispered
to his breast.

About this time, he received a letter from his father, filled with
complaints, " which he afterwards found were much exaggerated."
The immediate effect was a fit of ungovernable resentment, and his
vindictive feelings against Mr Pitt were for a moment forgotten, in
his rage against his father whose love he had so basely betrayed. He
resolved in the vindictive fury of his heart to cast away all ties, and sacri-
fice all prospects, for the satisfaction of wounding the breast which had
cherished his wayward youth, and would still protect him from him-
self. He resolved to enlist in the India service. Unfortunately — for
it had been better for him — he met with a disappointment. On his
arrival at the India house, he ascertained that he had come too late for
that year, but might be received and sent out on the next.

He returned home and was called to the bar, with the purest igno-
rance of law; but as £500 of his wife's fortune was now paid, he laid out
£100 in law books, and for some time was assiduous in his attention
to the courts. It is unnecessary to detail the incidents of his legal
career; it was short and unproductive; though his natural talent, ad-
dress and manner, and the extended acquaintance which he had among
the members of the profession, were the means of obtaining him more,
both of notice and employment, than could fall to most beginners.

Feeling a very reasonable despair of professional success, and a still
increasing hatred to the study of law, he now decidedly turned his
thoughts to politics, and tried his hand upon a pamphlet in defence of
the whig club, of which he observes in his diary, " though I was very
far from entirely approving the system," and that he yet agreed with
them so far as they went, " though my own private opinions went
infinitely farther." His pamphlet had some success, for the Northern
Whig Club reprinted it for distribution, and afterwards discovering
the author, elected him one of their body. Another consequence was,
his being retained in a heavy suit by the Ponsonbys, one of whose
political connexions made very promising overtures to him, and led
him to hope for great advantages. In consequence, he attached him-
self to the whig club for a little time. But he soon found that his
expectations were likely to lead to nothing beyond the fee of eighty
guineas, which he had received. Mr George Ponsonby was very civil
to him whenever they met, but never said a word on politics. He
therefore resolved to abandon this party as hopeless. " But," he adds,
" my mind had now got a turn for politics, I thought I had at last found
my element, and I plunged into it with eagerness.'' This was, indeed,
a discovery for one whose views had already gone " infinitely farther"
than the whigs, and may help to illustrate the great care, study, and
deliberation, which had been employed in the formation of those views.
We are not, indeed, long left in further doubt as to their nature and
extent: he mentions on the same page, "I made speedily what was
to me a great discovery, though I might have found it in Swift and

VOL. v. 2 c

402 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Molyneux, that the influence of England was the radical vice of our
government, and consequently, that Ireland would never be either free,
prosperous, or happy, until she was independent, and that independence
was unattainable, whilst the connexion with England existed." " This
theory," he adds, " has ever since directed my political conduct." This
was the virtual commencement of Mr Tone's career, and the germ of
many woes to him and to his country. It was about the year 1790.
The reasonings by which the delusion of his life was maintained, drop
out from page to page; but demand no repetition, as they consist en-
tirely of those popular notions — true or false, or falsely understood, —
in which democratic factions are entirely conversant.

We have now traced Tone to the full-grown stature and maturity of
his theory; and, though it is to be admitted, that there is to be found
no great indication of the power or labour with which the ultimate
theories of great statesmen are formed; yet it will be remarkably ex-
emplified in the dexterity, address, practical talent, and constancy, with
which he adhered to it, how much talent and efficiency may coexist
with so little true wisdom. The secret of his strength lay in the
superficial texture of his reasons, and the ignorance of his associ-
ates. With his newly acquired theory, Tone's character seems to
change — the folly and insignificance which glitter like froth over
the previous pages of his diary, seem to be lost in the consciousness of
a great congenial purpose. Ireland rose on his imagination in place
of the South Sea islands, and his favourite Buccaniers found a capti-
vating place in the long perspective of an Irish revolution. Those who
had slighted his plans, or his abilities, were now, he thought, to learn
by experience, the man they had lost. But we may be thought to anti-
cipate events, while thus tracing out the fast blowing tendencies, not
obscurely indicated in the preceding pages.

" An occasion soon offered," writes Mr Tone, " to give vent to my
new opinions. On the appearance of a rupture with Spain, I wrote a
pamphlet to prove, that Ireland was not bound by the declaration of
war; but might, and ought, to stipulate for a neutrality. In examining
this question, I advanced the question of separation, with scarcely any
reserve, much less disguise." The blow was evidently well meant and
heartily given ; and it cannot be admitted, that the author expected no
result. " But," he adds, " the public mind was by no means so far ad-
vanced as I was, and my pamphlet made not the smallest impression."
The pamphlet was, nevertheless, read by many persons of known public
character, and Tone heard some unpalatable truths in his bookseller's
shop. We may here, in passing, recall to the reader's recollection,
that this very pamphlet was in a high degree adapted for the suggestion
of some of those apprehensions which are said to have led to the union.
And by indicating the views of an extreme party, which soon after
began to make its appearance, it certainly offered no slight probability
of the verification of such fears. And this, more especially, when there
afterwards appeared to exist in the public mind of this country an in-
definite and growing spirit of requisition, plentifully accompanied by
such indications as the language and publication here mentioned.

At this period he formed a close friendship with a gentleman of the

THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 403

name of Russel, whose name must often recur in this memoir. For
the present, it may be enough to state, that Mr Tone describes his
character as being suited to his own by an " identity of sentiment."

If our space afforded, we could here present the reader with a
striking view of social life, well painted in Mr Tone's pages. In the
summer of 1790, he took "a little box on the seaside at Irishtown."
Here his family, his friend Russel, and occasionally his brothers, were
accustomed to meet. Wit, politics, and gay conviviality, gave a charm
to the days they passed together, and to the "delicious dinners, in the
preparation of which, my wife, Russel, and myself, were all engaged."
There was surely something of a wild unfettered character in those
half-gypsey merry-makings which must hav£ harmonized richly with
the bold background of Mr Tone's visions of future glory.

During this interval, one more chance of realizing the first and
favourite day-dream of his heart seemed to offer itself. The strong-
appearances of a rupture with Spain, and the advice of Russel, induced
Mr Tone to renew his suggestions to the British government on the
Buccaniering scheme. The ministers seemed to approve of his plan,
which not only showed talent, but indicated a serviceable agent, in
case such a design might be adopted. He now received answers of
at least a considerate and approving kind, which for a moment awak-
ened his hopes. But the whole came to nothing, and we come to the
comment, which is happily characteristic — "If the measure we proposed
had been adopted, we were both determined on going out with the
expedition, in which case, instead of planning revolutions in our own
country, we might be now, perhaps, carrying on a privateering war
(for M'hich, I think, we both have talents,) on the coasts of Spanish
America." After a sentence more, he adds, " The minister's refusal
did not sweeten us towards him. I renewed the vow I had once before
made, to make him, if I could, repent of it, in which Russel most
heartily concurred. Perhaps the minister may yet have reason to
wish he had let us go off quietly to the South Seas. I should be glad
to have an opportunity to remind him of his old correspondent; and
if I ever find one, I will not overlook it. I dare say, he has utterly
forgot the circumstances, but I have not." If there be any value in
expression, these are the deep breathings of the slowhound revenge.

But we have, perhaps, sufficiently ascertained the political tendencies
of Mr Tone; and in some degree, also, the spirit in which his career
was to commence. Talented and endowed with much social amiability
as he was ; and kindly as seems to have been the impression he has
left on the memory of many highly estimable men, we are bound to
say, that there was no public virtue, much less heroism, in his charac-
ter; and, that so far as we have traced him, his motives were those of an
undisciplined understanding, and a disordered heart — of wild romance,
and deeply seated revenge — a love of active emergency and confusion
— with an animosity against order and settled authority. That such
a temper can easily discover pretexts in any state of things, is not very
hard to perceive. But in Ireland, placed as it was in a most ano-
malous position ; with a political constitution, replete with the hetero-
geneous elements of collision — a vitiated frame of polity — and a people
comparatively backward in civil progress; it might be anticipated that

404 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

such motives and such opinions would easily find fcr themselves the
materials for a specious assumption of dignified motive. It was easy
for Mr Tone, with Russel and a few more, as wrongheaded, and as
enthusiastic in error as himself, to weigh every institution of society
in a false balance against their visionary tenets, and to find them
wanting ; and to seize on every crime or suffering, wrong, or impolicy
— in a word, on all the evils inseparable from humanity, and fling them
in a mass into the same scale. And this is precisely the point to be
cleared in this memoir: for which purpose our endeavour must be, so
far as can now be done, to separate many facts of which the character
has been materially altered by confusing them together.

In reading such statements as Mr Tone's memoir, a curious problem
offers itself — often, indeed, suggested in the course of human observa-
tion. The deepest-dyed impostor — so long as he is persuaded that his
knaveries are not detected — will meet suspicion and reproach with the
sincere resentment of injured innocence. He will vindicate the rights
of virtue, and feel even something of its pride. He will, even in the
communings of his own breast, draw together the excuses, palliatives,
and justifications of himself, and weave them into a theory of virtue : he
will set up many a screen between his mind's eye and its purposes.
And thus he may, in a book like Mr Tone's, give an account of himself
and his motives, so speciously put together, as to impose on many of
his readers the semblance of a fair case.

For a man, and a cause like those brought together here, this is not
more a principle of exposure than of apology. It saves us from the
necessity of imputing the unslaked wickedness and baseness which
seem to us to be the common sense reading of Mr Tone's memoirs.
While at every page he more or less exhibits strong grounds for the
system of policy adopted by the government, he at the same time
adopts a uniform tone of vindictive language, which assumes that there
were no such grounds. With similar inconsistency, after the clearest
exposure of his own designs, he afterwards insinuates what his son
directly, and in the teeth of facts asserts, that his designs grew out of
certain after events. After a long course of evasions and plottings,
mixed up with most degrading levities, we find the manly firmness and
the dignified self-respect of a Cato. If, instead of politics, we were
engaged in a moral analysis, no illustration could be more complete
of the deep-seated contrarieties of the human heart ; — the impulse to
wrong and the respect for right : let a crime be but susceptible of the
specious show of virtue, and the deepest villany will stand erect, un-
blushing, and self-justified.

In 1791> we have the following statement from Mr Tone: — " To
subvert the tyranny of our execrable government — to break the con-
nexion with England, the never-failing source of all our political evils
— and to assert the independence of my country — these were my ob-
jects;"— objects already explained by ample self-revelations adverted
to in the foregoing pages. For these objects, the means stated are
the union of all classes of Irishmen, (p. 52.) The nature of this union,
is described indirectly in a few sentences, in which he states his reason
for not addressing himself to the Roman catholic, and says, " I know
well, that however it might be disguised or suppressed, there existed

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 4C5

in the breast of every Irish catholic an inextirpable abhorrence of the
English name and power." How far this assertion is calumnious or
true, is not the immediate consideration: the church of Rome is not
here upon its trial. It is now mentioned to indicate the animus of
the proposed union. It is necessary that the reader should bear this
fact in mind, because it afterwards becomes a specious pretence, and
is put forward separate from its motive. In a kingdom so manifestly
degraded and harassed by its dissensions, what could seem more wise
or laudable than the desire to promote union. But the word was
a party phrase for confederacy. We may here, in passing, notice
that it is after the Relief Bill, in 1793, when a sentiment of gratitude
and loyalty had shown itself among the Roman catholics, that he is
represented as entertaining and endeavouring to communicate feelings
of indignant despair; and when, by the avowed efforts of himself and
his friends, the tone of grievance is once more well put in motion, he
is represented (no doubt on his own authority,) by his son as for the
first time taking fire: then came the idea "to break the connexion
between the two countries. This idea had often mingled with the
dreams of my father's youth ; but he, then, for the first time, began to
consider it seriously." We have underlined the singular assertion of a
falsehood as careless and impudent as we ever recollect to have met.

In the not vei-y long interval between the statements thus brought
into contact, Mr Tone had not been idle. In 1791> he published a
pamphlet, under the signature of a Northern Whig, purporting to be
" an argument in behalf of the catholics of Ireland," in which the whole
basis on which he argues is the implication of the principles of the
French Revolution: — the real or supposed apprehensions derived from
their connexion with Rome, he answers by appealing to the event in
France, and by assertions which no sincere Roman catholic would admit.
And his ultimate reply to each objection always assumes the separa-
tion from England, and the entire remodelling of a constitution. Of
these indirect exposures he seems quite unconscious ; and while he
appears to have guarded against gross direct avowals, his mind was so
saturated with revolutionary opinion, that it escapes unheeded by him-
self, (and not understood by his biographer,) in every paragraph of
this tract. But his hints are often more sincere. He says, that it is not
his plan here to examine the question of independent existence — " I
trust, when the necessity does arise, as at some time it infallibly must ;'
and if any one should question its possibility, he points out the answer
which time has given, " by bringing forth that stupendous event, the
revolution of France," &c. Such was the portentous appeal which first
raised Mr Tone to great and popular publicity. It was distributed in
all quarters, and large editions were immediately printed by different
bodies, and scattered like wild-fire through the kingdom. It intro-
duced Mr Tone to the principal persons with whom we find him acting
during the remainder of his Irish career. " As my pamphlet spread
more and more, my acquaintance among the catholics extended accord-
ingly. My first friend in this body was John Keogh, and through him
I became acquainted with all the leaders, as Richard M'Cormick, John
Sweetman, Edward Byrne, Thomas Brangnall, in short the whole sub-
committee, and most of the active members of the general committee^"

406 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

The volunteers of Belfast, " of the first or green company, were pleased
in consequence of my pamphlet, to elect me an honorary member of
their corps." He adds, " I was also invited to spend a few days in
Belfast, in order to assist in framing the first club of United Irishmen."

Much must needs be passed by in a memoir intended to be short,
but growing beyond all due limits. Mr Tone makes it quite apparent
that the United Irishmen, of which the body was variously composed,
was headed by men of republican principles — that it branched with sur-
prising rapidity; — and, that, though its ostensible requisitions and com-
plaints were some just and all allowable, the sentiments expressed, and
the arguments put forth, breathe the spirit of the leading men. This
is, indeed, the main point to be illustrated by the life of Mr Tone, and
it may therefore be expedient to pause for a moment on those consid-
erations. There was not only, at this point of time, a strong infusion
of republican opinions pervading the north, and, through the medium
of the volunteers, spread into every corner of the kingdom where there
could be found the requisite degree of intelligence; but there was also
a very peculiar preparation for the reception of such principles. Cen-
turies of insurrection and insurrectionary tradition, with, perhaps,
some native propensities, had communicated military instincts to the
Irish peasantry; conspiracies and armed associations were the fertile
growth of the soil — whatever excitement was by any means communi-
cated, quickly assumed this indigenous type. We shall now go back no
farther than a few years from the date in which we are engaged. In
or about 1762, the Whiteboys were associated by an oath, which most
clearly manifests the real internal character of that association. The
following is the oath: —

" I do hereby solemnly and sincerely swear, that I will not make
known any secret now given me, or that hereafter may be given me,
to any one in the world, except a sworn person belonging to the society
called Whiteboys, or otherwise, Sive Ultagh's Children.

" Furthermore, I swear that I will be ready at an hour's warning,
(if possible,) being properly summoned by any of the officers, Serjeants,
or corporals, belonging to my company.

" Furthermore, I swear that I will not wrong any of the company
I belong to of the value of one shilling; nor suffer it to be done by
others, without acquainting them thereof.

" Furthermore, I swear that I will not make known, in any shape
whatever, to any person that does not belong to us, the name or names
of any of our fraternity; but particularly the names of our respective
officers.

" Lastly, I swear that I will not drink of any liquor whatever, whilst
on duty, without the consent of the officers, Serjeants, or corporals ;
and that we will be loyal to one another as far as in our power lies."

The purport of this oath is plain enough — it simply secures secrecy
and military obedience. It also ascertains a system of officers, Serjeants,
and corporals. It contains no provision that does not evidently regard
these objects. It also clearly indicates the instrumentality of persons
of education; and a purpose not unreservedly committed to the lower
class, the rank and file of conspiracy. Certain agrarian discontents
were made the immediate pretexts for organizing the lower classes, and

PERIOD ] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 4C7

the cover for the ulterior purposes of their leaders or misleaders.
The same character, may be traced in all the similar associations,
arising successively under different names, and having similar pretexts
concealing similar organizations. But our only concern with these is
to point out the channels through which the principles of republican-
ism now began to be propagated with the most active zeal. We ought
also to call the reader's attention to another circumstance which helped
to mark its first advances. Republican principles had so very largely
spread in the form of mere opinions among the upper classes, that very
dangerous language could be spoken and written without attracting
much notice, or appearing to warrant any conclusion. Parliamentary
reform, which, even in England, all wise men opposed, was taken up
by some leaders of the opposition in Ireland. It afforded a pretext of
the most effective description, as it could be made to involve the whole
compass of republicanism. The question of catholic emancipation, about
which the people were wholly indifferent, was evidently a good pretext
for meetings, associations, and for the gradual excitement of a popular
sensation. We now return to Mr Tone. His pamphlet obtained a
degree of public applause, wholly due to the echo of republican senti-
ments; and the fact is itself important, as an indication not to be lightly
passed by without observing the strong confirmation it thus affords of
the statements we offer with regard to public feeling: such, in fact,
are the only sure indications of a past state of things. In this much
applauded pamphlet, — at once adopted, republished, and circulated, by
so many associations— there is nothing to claim such a compliment but
the republican tone of sentiment; it spoke out what so many felt, and
so few had the courage to say. He went, indeed, so far as to be
reproved for his indiscretion by many: he mentions one instance in
which he was remonstrated with by a whig barrister — the same who had
before retained his services for the Ponsonbys ; and if any one will
take the trouble to read attentively the history of that conference,
and his own reflections upon it, (p. 59,) too long to be extracted, a
suspicion will arise that Mr Tone would have sold his support, if his
own terms had been complied with. Though he often and strongly
animadverts upon the indiscretion of others, Mr Tone is very far from
discreet. Indeed, it would have cost too much disguise, and required
a depth beyond his nature.

But having now endeavoured to trace the general state of the people,
from which the conspiracy of the United Irishmen derived its mate-
rials, character, and means of rapid diffusion, it will next be desirable
to show in fact its strict affinity to previous conspiracies. This may
be briefly done by the simple statement of the plan and form of the
society of United Irishmen. In 1791> a prospectus first proposed it,
and stated its general objects. It was to " have much of the secrecy
and somewhat of the ceremonial attached to freemasonry," of which a
main object is stated to be that it may " animate his [man's] philosophy
by the energy of his passions." It then states certain ostensible views
already noticed. It then proposes the means and instrumentalities to
be resorted to — " publication, in order to propagate their principles,"
&c. — and this point deserves attention, because it ascertains the con-
nexion between them and their writings, which are mainly directed to

408 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFiH

republicanism. Passing some points, we come to the following: "com-
munication with similar societies abroad : as the Jacobin Club in Paris ;
the Revolution Society in England," &c. This plain statement renders
further remark needless ; so we may go at once to their adopted dis-
cipline. As it was an object to reconcile all classes of malcontents,
and not to reveal their secret purposes to the body at large, the oath
to be taken simply regarded those ostensible objects which revealed
nothing, though well adapted to lead to the essential end — it pledged
them to union in the pursuit of parliamentary reform. This was the
great pretext, well kept up throughout, nearly till the time when, all
being discovered, it became their apology. Their constitution, accord-
ing to the description of Dr M'Nevin, was the following: — " It con-
sisted of societies, at first composed of thirty-six members; afterwards
these societies were reduced to twelve members; each society of twelve
chose a secretary, and generally a treasurer. The secretaries of five
societies formed a lower baronial committee, out of each of these [we
omit repetition of terms] one person was chosen to be a member of the
upper baronial, each of which consisted of twelve members so chosen.
In populous towns there were district committees; and in counties,
county committees — these were composed by choosing one member
from each baronial. Next above these were the provincial committees,
composed of two, and sometimes three, from each county committee.
The provincial committees elected five persons by ballot: the secretary
examined the ballots, and reported to the persons elected their ap-
pointment, but made no report of their election to the provincials, who
were thus kept in ignorance of the persons who composed the executive,"
&c. The rest describes the method of communication downwards from
step to step, through the several ranks thus described. M'Nevin states
this organization to have been originally civil, but to have become
military in Ulster, about the end of 1796, and subsequently everywhere
else, when the real object, till then confined to the initiated, became
openly professed throughout the body — this was " to effect a revolution,
and establish a republic." The reader will have perceived that the
main structure of this complicated system was elaborately designed to
guard a secret, only to be known from the animus of the party. There
was no secrecy observed about reform; and, as we have already ob-
served, all the arguments and the whole drift of their literary manifes-
toes, pointed to tine further object ultimately avowed. To prove this by
lengthened extracts would take too much space. But we may mention,
that the declaration which they published in October, 1791) com-
mences with an unguarded preamble, referring to the " rights of men"
as then " ascertained in theory, and that theory substantiated by prac-
tice;" and by this and other phrases, referring the motive of their asso-
ciation to the example of the French revolution, "the present great
era of reform, when unjust governments are falling in every quarter
of Europe." It was, of course, not possible, that an extensive con-
federacy should cover the kingdom for six years, and continue to adopt
such evidently equivocal proceedings, without communicating the
utmost alarm to the peaceful, and above all, in a country like this.
Nor can any one, possessing an ordinary share of common sense, ima-
gine that it could be suffered to proceed unquestioned.

THEOBALD WOLFE TONE.

The government took a well-founded alarm; and all those who were
either opposed to, or terrified by, these rather plain proceedings, took
steps which Mr Tone does not fail to brand with strong vituperation.
It was then, as it has ever been, a most impudent fallacy among such
men, that their own formal pretences are to be taken for granted, and
anything committed to the privacy of a playhouse whisper in their
private language not to be understood. Unfortunately for these
reasonable pretensions, admissions like this slip out. " In order
more effectually to spread their principles, twelve of the most active
and intelligent among them subscribed £250 each, in order to set on
foot a paper, whose object should be to give a fair statement of all that
passed in France, whither every one turned their eyes:" — enumerating
the various doctrines to be inculcated, the last is, " and finally, as the
necessary, though not avowed consequence of all this, to erect Ireland
into a republic." But the opposite party, spread through Ireland,
and even for the greater part, in the very focus of these plans, were to
know nothing of all this ; the government was to stand hoodwinked
by some unaccountable blindness. Reason was to stand still at a
certain point — human fears were to be soothed by open humbug — and
the strong sense of interests and duties, to be cajoled into a criminal
passiveness by the shallow evasions of the Northern Star, and those
whom it spoke for. These symptoms were not confined to speeches
and squibs; the commemoration of the taking of the Bastile gave
rather an unequivocal indication of the tendency of the time. But,
indeed, our present purpose requires not that we should dwell on
any circumstance, with a view to make the most of it : the singular
indiscretion of the entire of Mr Tone's party and friends, and their
total absence of anything like politic reserve, offers proof, ex abun-
danti, as to the fact, that not a step of their progress in disaffection,
and scarcely a word could have been concealed from any one but
the most ignorant. Mr Tone's book, as it proceeds, becomes more
motleyed with the uniform self-contradictions in which he delights to
dwell. If one sentence pours scorn upon the authorities for their sus-
picions, the next justifies them. We shall take a few extracts from
his diary, a little farther on: — "August 1st, [1792.] Busy all day
folding papers for the Munster bishops. Damn all bishops! Gog not
quite well on that point; thinks them a good thing. Nonsense. Dine
at home with Neilson and M'Cracken, very pleasant. Rights of man.
French revolution. No bishops," &c. It may not be superfluous to
apprise many of our readers, that the letters here mentioned are for
the Roman catholic bishops : Gog was their cant name for Mr Keogh,
a Roman catholic, and sincere in his religion, though evidently a
democrat; he is mentioned by those who knew the men and the times,
to have been the ablest and best of the set to which he belonged.

On the 9th of the same month, Mr Tone found some reason to relax
in his antipathy to bishops, as his journal for that day runs: — " Dined
with Dr Reilly, the primate; Plunket, bishop of Meath; Reilly, bishop
of Clogher; Cruise, bishop of Ardagh, &c., [to the number of eight
bishops,] all very pleasant sensible men. Dr Pluuket, the first; think
he would be a credit to any situation. All well on the catholic ques-
tion. The matter as to the north now settled. More and more admire

419 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Dr Plunket; glad to find the catholic prelates men of such manners
and understanding; beau jour, all very civil to me, and complimentary
about Vindex, and refuse to drink lord Hillsborough," &c. Several of
his entries in this interval plainly indicate the perfect notoriety of the
entire proceedings of Mr Tone and his party. A strong sense of in-
dignation and alarm was, as a matter of course, excited in the hulk
of the loyal population of the north, and Mr Tone, with his democra-
tic associates, meet with insults, and are menaced with dangers, which,
with his ordinary candour, he endeavours to stigmatize with inappro-
priate names. " Horrible thing, these religious discords, which are
certainly fomented by the aristocrats of this country." Thus, this
most flagitious faction, of which it was the immediate object to taint
the Roman catholic peasantry with disaffection, pretended to misun-
derstand the certain and proper consequence of their own acts. A
few days after, a public meeting was held, to receive from Mr Tone
an account of the " present state of the catholics," and he enters among
other things in his diary: — "The catholics offer to find soldiers, if
Belfast will provide officers." Now, the question is not here about
the loyalty of the Roman catholics: it is simply made evident, that
every instrumentality was set in motion by the United Irishmen to
corrupt them — of course, not without considerable success — there is
no reproach so far ; at all events, the evidence of this agency, of its
success, and of its notoriety, is beyond all further question. These
inferences are most important; for, besides the main conclusion to
which this memoir leads, there is a very strong appeal to the fairness
and candour of those who cast reproach on the violence, real and pre-
tended, of the strong protestant spirit which was raised in opposition to
such proceedings. It must now be admitted, that such proceedings
were not merely calculated to awaken disgust and abhorrence; but,
considering the times — the state of Europe — and the universal fears
of that day — it is to be admitted, that it was an occasion for every
spark of self-preserving spirit to be awake, and that there was ample
excuse for stronger feelings. If there mixed with this any tinge of
delusion — if the real notorious indications, to which Mr Tone is a fair
and unimpeachable testimony, were a little overrated as to extent and
consequence — we know not any ground on which any portion of the
public can be expected to measure, compute, and foresee, the precise
amount, force, and result, of an approaching storm. Without casting
reproach on either of the two great popular parties then committed in
strife and mortal enmity together, we think it the evident result of the
real facts of history, that the leaders of the United Irishmen were (then
at least,) the entire originators of the local disturbances of which we
are now speaking, as well as of those larger consequences, more directly
to be illustrated by our memoir.

Mr Tone relates a conference with the marquis of Downshire and
lord Hillsborough, in which he seems to applaud himself on the part
he sustained. Looking to the previous revelations, in which he seems
to forget how far he has taken the reader into his confidence, it is as
good as any farce to read his unconstrained falsehoods and misrepre-
sentations, which produce not the slightest effect upon lord Hills-
borough. Nothing, indeed, can quite account for a species of reeling

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 411

inconsistency that pervades this diary, but the one little memorandum
that sometimes closes the entry, " generally drunk."

It is, at the same time, made evident enough, that a few respectable
persons, chiefly men of very popular opinions, were really imposed on
by the reckless disregard of truth, which enabled Mr Tone to shape
his statement to his hearer. With respect to the connexion between
Mr Grattan and the leaders of this party, it is liable for this very
reason to be mistaken, and, on account of the space it would require,
is difficult to explain further. It is for this reason that we have not, and
shall not, enter into it. Mr Grattan may be safely thrown upon his
character: — he was an honest and honourable man, and, moreover, a
brave man, and need not be supposed to have suppressed his opinions.

We pass many incidents now of small interest in the remoteness of
time, and much disclosure, bearing all the same construction as the
matter already placed before the reader. There is the same mixture
of secret drift totally exposed on every side — the same revelation of,
and self-applause for low duplicity — the same mouthing of the heroics
of patriotism and public virtue — and the same outrageous abuse of all
persons official or otherwise, who appeared to show any sign of not
being wholly imposed upon. At one page we find Mr Tone chuck-
ling in the triumph of what he conceives to be successful cunning;
in a few more he is assailing bitterly the report of a committee of the
House of Lords, which found reasons to attach suspicion to some of
his republican accomplices. It was in consequence of the committees
here adverted to that the volunteers were finally disarmed, on the
ground " of a charge little short of high treason." On this occasion,
Mr Tone takes refuge in his usual favourite vision of Jacobinical
triumph. When a rough but timely exertion of the self-preserving
duty of government had begun to arrest in its course the rapid pro-
gress of an ill-concealed attempt at treasonable organization ; his
sanguine temper never gave way to despair; he swallows the momen-
tary ebullition, and exclaims, or writes, " Perhaps a time may come
." The double-tongued narrative of Mr Tone will impose on
no one; but the confusion of parties and objects, then associated, gave
at the time a spcciousness to the language of such men. It did more;
for there were many, whose zeal in the more overt and honourable of
those objects, did not allow them to perceive the natural consequence
of such an association ; for, under the circumstances, serious as they
•were, and urgent as they appeared to be, of course it was impossible
with great accuracy to discriminate in the medley, who was the true
man, and who the false. But, what is yet of some importance, the
numerous narratives since written of the events of that period have
taken their tone of statement from the loose and most lying invectives
of that double-bodied and double-tongued association, so that one
•wonders to find such gratuitous acts of tyranny, and such tyrants as
they paint, until something of the real truth peeps out from the "gene-
rally drunk" revelations of Mr Tone, whose evenings of pleasant jolli-
fication have so far counteracted the boasted discretion of his mornings.
His communicativeness under these inspirations must often put his
readers in mind of Trinculo's, " Open your other mouth you cat
monster." Though, after all, it would be unfair not to state the fact,

412 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII

that Mr Tone's communications were not altogether so indiscreet, as
may be presumed by any one who has only seen those extracts which
we have made : his diaries were not meant for the public, which is
indebted for them to the very curious inadvertency of his son.

Among the peculiarities observable in the conduct of the association
thus constituted, there is one not quite so glaringly observable as those
hitherto stated — we mean the evidence which appears of underhand at-
tempts to induce the Roman catholic body to put forward their claims
in the manner most likely to hazard their rejection. We have no
object here in tracing this with any detail; but, it is evident enough,
that they were for this end induced to assume a far more exacting and
peremptory tone, at the very time when suspicions, which were not
unlikely to injure them, were filling the minds of men, and even influ-
encing the acts of government. The appeal to force was so hinted,
for this purpose ; and the amount of their demands, also augmented,
for this was connected with the declaration of further expectations.
This, as we shall have occasion to show, was quite at variance with
the real feeling of the Roman catholic body: and our conclusion is, that
it was a suggestion for the purpose of drawing them into the confeder-
acy. Their indifference on the subject of relief, is authoritatively
affirmed by M'Nevin, Emmet, &c., when examined in 1798.

But one of the plainest signs of this manosuvre is the disappointment
shown immediately after, when, to the surprise of both sections of this
party, the government suddenly yielded a larger measure of relief
than had been hoped for by the most sanguine emancipator. This
has been already related — it was in April, 1793. " By one compre-
hensive clause, all penalties, forfeitures, disabilities, and incapacities,
are removed," &c., &c. In the language of Mr Tone, continued for
nearly a page of exemptions, immunities, and privileges, which he ends
by observing, " From comparison, it will appear, that every complaint
recited has been attended to; every grievance specified has been re-
moved." But Mr Tone was clearly not among those who triumphed.
The next words convey the real direction of his thoughts, in quest of
some little spark to keep up the fire he cherished, " Yet the prayer of
the petition was for general relief. The bill is not coextensive with the
prayer." In various forms he insinuates expressions which prove his
sense of the measure to have been one of regret; he looked upon it as
diminishing the stock of discontent; and, while a certain formal con-
sistency forces him to speak of it in terms of approval, as conformable
to his principles, yet the bile of dissatisfaction oozes unconsciously
through all his reflections; every allusion to the subject has some
reference to the one fundamental object; and it is in consequence of
this that his language teems with admission. In his eyes the one con-
sequence is " a loss of public spirit." " A consequent carrying under
cover of the catholic bill, the gunpowder and militia acts, augmenta-
tion of the army, proclamations," &c. ; that is to say, that, having
granted liberal concessions to the full extent of public expectation, the
government took the only means to suppress a dangerous conspiracy,
to which Mr Tone himself was privy, and which was then giving
the utmost alarm to all peaceable persons. In a word, every paragraph
of the diary, which his son ventures to publish, plainly displays some

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 413

part of a train of thought perpetually running on the means and
chances of the separation of the two countries.

Now, in direct defiance of the whole spirit, and almost the letter
of all these communications, Mr Tone's biographer has the singular
effrontery to interpose at this point a statement already adverted to,
tracing to the abuses and tyrannies of this very time the whole train
of revolutionary incidents and workings, which we have been so very
distinctly tracing in his father's whole diary. The point is one of in-
finite importance in Irish history ; on this assertion, the whole tissue
of misrepresentation, which corrupts the very language of our politics,
may be shown to turn. To impose this notion, was first the artifice
of conspiracy — it next became the adopted aim of every one concerned
in it; from them it has been handed down, until contradiction has been
outfaced by a perseverance in the most egregious falsehood. And
even Mr Tone, junior, has only caught up a commonly adopted misre-
presentation from a class of party pamphleteers and orators, whose
misrepresentations, not being marred by any of his father's candour,
or his own indiscretion, are by no means so easy to detect.

It is just at this time, we are informed, that the " oppressive mea-
sures" of the government fired the hearts of the multitude with indig-
nation, so that " no longer bounding their views to catholic eman-
cipation and reform of parliament, they aimed at separation, liberty,
and even revenge. Their societies took a fiercer character, and
then, for the first time, began those secret oaths and associations, by
which their members bound themselves; whilst the Orange Lodges,
•with forms at least as illegal as those of the United Irishmen, [forms,
indeed!] and purposes [not as illegal, but] as diabolical as those of the
others were pure and liberal, [!!] were encouraged by the govern-
ment, all over the country;" — the " independence of Ireland" being the
" avowed'' principles of the first; " slavery," &c., of the second. The
reader, by this, understands the vocabulary of the Tones, and we need
not explain what is intended by independence and slavery. Thus, then,
•when the United Irishmen — whose progress we have traced from the
beginning, but without one-tenth of the evidence which could be
brought even from the pages of Mr Tone and his son — had begun to
conspire for the subversion of the civil and religious institutions of
the state, with a fully understood view to the murderous and antisocial
principles which had been so fully and notoriously adopted ; their
adversaries, — those functionaries whose duty it was to guard the insti-
tutions of the state, and those individuals and classes which lived, pros-
pered, and found rest under them, — were not the traitors and the pas-
sive cowards, had not the dishonesty or the imbecility to shrink from
their posts, or to be wanting to themselves and their families in a mo-
ment so heavily laden with menace from abroad, and disaster at home.
It was easy — and ever has been, among the artifices of the partisan — to
make a case out of the strong collision between open resistance and
half-concealed rebellion, which used an indirect language, and pre-
tended to deny its intent. And we may, in passing, observe, that the
popular writers who think it necessary at this time to account for the
sudden change of the government from liberal concession to great
harshness, assign inadequate causes and motives. We do not deny (or

414 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

grant) any of their allegations of fact: in the encounter of human pas-
sions, much that is evil will inevitably float uppermost on either side:
corruption and oppression are weeds which intwine their tendrils with
the pillars of the social state; for they are in human nature. We be-
lieve, that when violence begins, and Jaw being defied by one side, is
laid aside by the other as insufficient, that the least humane tempers
are those which will press forward on one side to vindicate society;
on the other, to break down its barriers. We freely join in denounc-
ing the alleged tortures, and half-hangings and burnings — they are
not the weapons with which we would defend our home, or church, or
state. But if we were compelled to choose, we freely say, we should
prefer them to the guillotine and the lanterne, the bloody-handed judg-
ments of armed rebels — the worse atrocities of every sort, which have
been far oftener and more extensively perpetrated against laws. At
the time in question, even Mr Tone was compelled to exert himself to
rein in the revolutionary enthusiasm, " roused by the energetical
efforts and dazzling exploits of the French Revolution;" and, again,
" as in all periods of popular fermentation, the loudest and boldest
talkers took the lead, and the papers teemed with the most imprudent
and inflammatory publications. These ebullitions of impotent resent-
ment, by which they only favoured the views of administration, he
[Mr Tone,] always condemned." . . . . " Make yourselves free,"
would he say, " and then call yourselves what you please." This
prudence was elicited when they addressed him, and each other, with
the Jacobinical address of " citizen." But it never seems to enter the
head of Mr Tone's biographer, that all those inflammatory publica-
tions, and this open bearing of the broadest revolutionary language,
should have caused any apprehension, or called for any activity of the
government.

But we must pass on. At length a Mr Jackson, sent over by the
French government to "sound the people of Ireland on their willing-
ness to join the French, was traced and arrested, on a charge of high
treason. Previous to this, the government had obtained information
from a person to whom Jackson had been indiscreet enough to disclose
his secret — this person was employed to watch his movements, and
he was suffered to pass freely into Ireland. The leaders of the patri-
otic party [surely Dr Johnson must have taken his celebrated definition
of a patriot from some such sentence,] and catholics in Ireland, desirous
as they were to open a communication with France, were unwilling to
compromise themselves with a stranger, by answering directly to his
overtures. My father undertook to run the risk, and even engaged
himself to bear their answer to that country, and deliver to its govern-
ment a statement of the wants and situation of Ireland." The arrest
of Jackson spread terror among the ranks of the republicans; but still
more it seemed to involve the reckless enthusiast, who had so far
placed himself in the broad light of exposure. His associates, and
the body which they led, were advised by Mr Grattan to cast him off,
and he was in daily expectation of his arrest. Mr Grattan's ignorance
of the real extent of the conspiracy is incidentally attested by the
biographer in the mention of these circumstances. He states, that
his advice was rejected by the other leaders, and explains it by saying,

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 415

" Though my father put himself forward in the cause on this occasion,
most of their leaders were as deeply engaged as himself, and could
neither in honour, in justice, nor in prudence, act otherwise — a circum-
stance of which Grattan was probably not aware." This, in some
measure, as we have already noticed, explains the strong denunciations
of Mr Grattan's rhetoric.

Mr Tone was now advised to conceal himself, but this his pride and
reckless audacity refused. It was, however, out of the question that he
should longer be allowed freely to brave the laws; and the govern-
ment, unwilling to act with harshness towards a man of much reputed
kindness and amiability, who was generally esteemed for his social
talents, acted towards him with a degree of lenity which would, indeed,
be unaccountable, were it not for two considerations : — it was yet but
the beginning of the struggle, and the animosity of party had not been
engaged ; and Mr Tone had many friends whose influence with govern-
ment was now used in his behalf. Among these, his son gratefully
mentions the honourable Marcus Beresford, the honourable George
Knox, and lord Kilwarden. An agreement was made between these
gentlemen and the government, that he should leave Ireland so soon
as he could settle his private affairs.

There is, in the whole account given by Mr Tone himself of this
transaction, much to further implicate his fairness. But the exposure
would be superfluous, and lead us too far. One comment must, how-
ever, be made; because a main object here is to expose the falsehood
of a systematic language not confined to the Tones. After giving his
father's statement, drawn up for the government, of his interviews with
Mr Jackson, the younger Tone makes the following remarks: — "Jack-
son," he observes, " was allowed to proceed, not in order to detect an
existing conspiracy, but to form one" Sac. The exposure of this absurdity
only requires its juxtaposition with the foregoing statements; and, rely-
ing on this, we shall not tire the reader with much remark upon it ; it
offers a fair sample of the common accusations already stated. It may,
indeed, be of some moment to point out the inconsistency of pen and
tongue, which had acquired the habit of such conscious falsehoods, as
plainly indicating the origin of much imposture.

When such persons as Mr Tone are the historians of a conflict
between themselves and the resolute and the successful antagonists,
who ultimately brought them and their stratagems to confusion and
defeat, one might look for misrepresentation as a matter of course.
It might have been expected that it would have been more dexterously
effected. But such is the avidity of the popular ear, and such the in-
difference to truth of popular appeal, that the manifest self-contradic-
tion, and the entire disagreement between the assertion last repeated,
and the state of facts, (here described on the same authority,) has never
deterred writers from repeating this charge. It is, indeed, worth con-
sidering, that it is an accusation, which, if admitted, (together with
Mr Tone's whole statements^) would have no intrinsic weight. Into
this question we shall not enter. There is not a particle of evidence
for it. But the origin of such a charge ought to be sifted out from
the vague chaff of factious accusation which conceals it. Mr Tone,
in more places than one, (as well as his son;) infers the intention of

416 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

the government to irritate the people from the stringency and force of
the precautions which they took against an apprehended insurrection;
the arms bill, &c., &c. Now, in the first place, there is nothing in any
of these provisions to irritate any person, but those with whose actual
views they interfered; that there were such persons is avowed by Mr
Tone: it is also shown, that they were generally objects of fear through
the kingdom. If, then, the conspirators, and those who were infected
by the same contagion were irritated, the rest of the community were
likely to be very differently affected. So much for the fact. But,
secondly, granting that such irritation was excited to any serious ex-
tent, still it must have only shown how much required was the prompt-
ness of the government. The circumstances, as related, were such as
to place the government in a dilemma not quite unusual ; if they stood
passive for a time, it would be said that it was to let conspiracy ripen;
if they acted, it was to irritate the people. Now, by the statement of
the foregoing pages, the real state of the case at the moment to which
\ve are arrived was this : — A Jacobinical contagion had for years been
propagating with extraordinary talent and address. In Ireland it was
specially favoured by many advantages, of which the chief was the
existence of another wide-spread cause for popular excitement — we
mean the catholic question. The two things were separate, and for a
time worked on in channels totally distinct. But there was in the
Jacobinical faction a deficiency of materials; it had been originated
in the froth and scum of a civilized, wealthy, and well-affected class.
As it grew, the opposition to it sprung up with itself. But the art of
its leaders was shown by the adroitness with which they effected a
forced union with a class, the largest and most inflammable in the
kingdom. It was then that a danger, which otherwise might have
been left to die away, became full of real emergency. The govern-
ment acted with a promptness and sagacity, which, looking only to the
immediate exigency, cannot be too much praised. They passed a
measure which exceeded the very desires of the Roman catholic body;
and, " under cover," (the accuser's language,) passed such acts as the
occasion required : acts which could have no operation, unless to put
down an armed conspiracy. This, then, is the complaint. Men,
•whose entire object it was by every means to bring about a revolution,
thought it fit that the government should be quietly duped; that it should
stand on forms and terms of courtesy with them, and play out a child's
play of clumsy finesse with a banditti who called themselves patriots,
and maintained lofty pretences by the abnegation of every truth. It
is, indeed, an assumption which pervades the entire of Tone's memoirs
and reasonings, and has been largely adopted ever since; the suppressed
premise of many an argument, that every allowance is to be made for
the public disturber, and those who follow in his train: that the poli-
tical adventurer is to be trusted if he calls himself a patriot; and that
conspirators are not to be affronted when they are most foully mis-
named the people : that the ministers should tie one hand, and go
on their knees to box the lightfingered urchin who cries "fair play"
in the streets. That the demand should be made is but natural, but
it seems strange what credence it meets.

Mr Tone preserved his wonted character to the last on the occasion

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 417

of this compromise, taking- a high, honourable, and upright tone; while
everything1 he said and did, when reduced to its simple sense, was full
of equivocation and bitterness. His account of what he said and did,
is like the chorus of some vile street ballad, which we remember to have
heard insulting decorum in the public streets, in which at the close of
every verse, full of offensive meaning in very proper language, the
singer turning to the ring of ragged hearers with the burthen, " sure I
have said nothing you can take amiss." Such, indeed, is the singularly
quibbling and equivocating spirit of every part of the diary, and the bio-
graphical commentary with which it is mixed : the strong and plain
statement of treasonable proceedings is accompanied by violent invec-
tives against all who could imagine such designs had any existence ; and
it is curiously apparent how such a course, long kept up, had to some
extent become an unconscious intuition of Mr Tone's understanding.
In his representations to his government protectors, he assumes a tone
of heroic self-immolation, yet contrives to insinuate some misrepresen-
tation in almost every sentence. An entry on 20th November, 1 792, may
be used to give a clear notion of Mr Tone's actual opinion of the state of
facts, and his own private views of conduct — " O'Brien says the com-
mon people are in high spirits, and are anxious for the event. Bravol
better have the peasantry of one county, than twenty members of parlia-
ment. Gog [Keogh] seems to-day disposed for all manner of treason
and mischief — separation of the countries, &c. — a republic, &c. — is
of opinion that it will not end without blows, and says he for one is
ready. Is he ? Mr Hutton [Tone] quite prepared, having nothing to
lose.''

Before finally passing from this by far the most important stage of Mr
Tone's recollections, it is necessary to advert to the further disclosures
contained in the appendix to it. From several fragments of letters
addressed to Mr Tone, the following particulars can, with the help of
the concurrent diaries, be inferred, that there was some anxiety on the
part of the committees and leaders of the United Irishmen to keep
back the Roman catholic question, and to induce that body to extend
their demands commensttrately with their own purposes (see p. 221) —
that Mr Tone had supported French principles in several public meet-
ings through Ireland — that even the popular journals thought it neces-
sary to oppose the extreme principles asserted on those occasions —
that some difficulties were threatened, from the circumstance of the
conduct of the Parisians being in many things such as " cannot be
very acceptable to the Irish catholic,'1 (same letter.) The following
resolution demands no comment; it proceeded from a few persons, but
will be regarded as coming from the party, and more distinctly stating
its views: " We are humbly of opinion, that an application for anything
specific from the catholic body would tend to retard that catholic reform
which we so much desire, because we fear that government,. alarmed as
they are at present, will, by a gradual and pitiful extension of privilege
to that much oppressed body, operate a division amongst Irishmen, in
order to retard the general freedom of Ireland." And again, " In the
present glorious era, we do expect that our catholic countrymen have
too high value for the rights of man, to be satisfied with anything
short of them." We may here, by the way, observe, that there id

VOL. v. 2 D

418 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTIl

every reason to believe that this manoeuvre was understood to the
fullest extent, and actively as well as prudently resisted by the higher
class of persons who were the real representatives of the Romanists.
It was agreed upon between government and the friends of Mr Tone,
that he should be permitted to settle his affairs and go to America.
The trial of Mr Jackson, on a charge of high treason, involved him so
completely that, to have suffered him to remain unmolested in Ireland,
would, indeed, have amounted to a concession of the right of treason-
able proceedings; as, among other lesser grounds for suspicion, the
government obtained possession of a paper which he had drawn up for
the information of the French Directory ; and this paper, which is
published with his other writings, is as plain as can be in the nature
of its communications. There is, therefore, no reason to accuse the
government of harshness ; but, on the other hand, it is difficult to com-
prehend the weakness of letting him go, as it must have operated to
remove the fears which were communicated by the execution of
Jackson.

After reaching America, Mr Tone, with that lubricity of principle
which marks his conduct and language on every occasion, immediately
lays down as a clear position, that he is entirely exonerated from any
obligation to the government which had thus made him a present of
life and freedom. His sense of honour and gratitude had been over-
rated strangely; he was let go without exacting any pledge that he
would not use his escape for the purpose of treason. It was enough
for him, as he stated it to all persons he met, that he had only pro-
mised to go to America ; when this was done, he was clearly at liberty
for the work of vengeance. This too is a point on which we do not
think it justifiable to allow disguise; his letters speak of patriotism and
the rights of man, and all the pernicious absurdities of the fanatic
school of which he was a disciple; but in his diaries the fulness of his
heart is always breaking out in the language of the bitterest animosity,
and in numerous occasional glimpses of the base ambition of a buccanier.

A letter to Mr Arthur O'Connor presents rather a curious speci-
men of the odd combination of equivocation and self-illusion which
we have more than once noticed. It is made more curious by the
purpose for which it has been published by his son ; " as it contains
a clear and beautiful vindication of my father's conduct, I insert it
here." There cannot be anything of deeper interest than a son
vindicating his parent from posthumous infamy. Such a pious office
the most rigid censor would be unwilling to interrupt; but we must
say, that such clemency would, in the present instance, be to give up
all principle and every distinction between right and wrong. The
defence of Mr Tone simply consists in the assertion that he could
justify the traitorous design of which he was suspected. " The charge
made against me, when stripped of the necessary legal and constitu-
tional epithets, is, that I wished to introduce a French force into
Ireland, to subvert the present government, and to establish a republic
in its place. To this charge I shall give as to the fact, no answer.
But as to the principle, supposing it to be the case of an indifferent
person, something at least may be said," &c., &c. He then proceeds
to justify the supposed principle by the very rubbish of the most vulgar

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 419

fallacies and false analogies, resorted to by the shallowest demagogues
to the lowest factions ; and the " clear and beautiful vindication" is pre-
cisely on a level with the defence of a highwayman appealing to the
equal rights of property and the natural community of goods.

In the mean time, the strenuous and alert conduct of Mr Tone and
his most efficient coadjutors in the cause of revolution, had not gone
for nothing. Every grievance, real or imaginary, swelled the impulse ;
every discontentment, every evil and every idle and reckless person
was gradually won over. Men like Arthur O'Connor, Neilson, Keogh,
and the Emmetts, could not fail of success in their endeavours to propa-
gate discontent, faction, and military ardour. A political and social
millennium was to dawn from France — and the people were to be raised
to affluence and freedom. With this, some effect of the same tendency
was necessarily produced, by the reaction of opposite principles, in the
well-ordered and respectable portion of the community, in which fear
and the violent menaces of the disaffected generated a strong and
resolute spirit of defiance. It was not in the nature of things, that
the language of republicanism, and the still fiercer and deeper breath-
ings of revolutionary madness, which freely issued through the press,
and infected the conversation of a large and spreading party, should not
awaken fear, indignation, and stern opposition. And the enmity of
faction quickly began to add fierceness to the slow but fatal conflagra-
tion. Indeed, it is too little considered, that it is not from those public
speeches and manifestoes, in which there is always a discreet reserve,
that the actual tone of party feeling is communicated or measured
in such times : it is from the unreserved private indications which are
continually escaping on less formal occasions, and from the language
and conduct of individuals. We should have to write a large volume
to bring together and relate the multitudinous petty but significant
incidents which would establish the fact, that at this time the whole
country was deeply agitated with the contending emotions, designs,
fears, and resentments, here adverted to. It must then be understood,
that a strong reacting spirit was generated, concurrently with the
insurrectionary tendency which we are engaged in tracing ; and that
the one gave added heat and rancour to the other. As matter of
course, it will be understood, that the measures of government were
not allowed by the leaders of the United Irishmen to pass without
enough of comment, such as we have instanced from Mr Tone;
and, as always must happen in such cases, the very mildness, of
these measures being such as to prevent fear, the irritation was the
greater — From these elements gradually arose a medley of animosi-
ties, terrors, and, finally, outrages. But it is at this point that we
shall have to take up our thread in other memoirs. We must now
briefly follow Mr Tone through the remainder of his history. We
should not have dwelt so long upon the previous statements, were it
not for the singular combination of the writers, into whose representa-
tions of the events of the period we have had to look — to give false views
of every topic connected with their history. We might easily have
stated the whole of the substance of our own view in a few sentences;
but, as there exists a prepossession in the public mind on the subject,
it has occurred to us, that the main duty of the biographer and his

420 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

torian is to rectify such errors. And when such charges are made,
they should be accompanied by some proof. If nothing were to be
done but merely to ascertain the merits of Mr Tone, we can easily
admit, that the question might best be left to oblivion, which would be
more than justice for such persons and their deeds. But the history of
Mr Tone's time has been written by the hand of faction; the injustice
of its representations has not been confined to the exaltation of knaves
and fools, but in the proportionate depression of wise and honourable
men. The evidence of Mr Tone may be safely taken against himself
and his accomplices in treason and folly. Specious as party statements
commonly are, a book like his is a rare and precious gift to the
public; as without any redeeming virtue of candour, it betrays the
real views and motives of the United Irishmen — the sources from
which they originated — the means by which they worked — and the full
extent of the effects which they produced. The historians who seem
to have compiled their histories from the newspapers, and from the
speeches of popular leaders, have found it easy to trace the rebellion
to causes which never yet produced rebellion — the means taken to
repress the dangerous indications so fully accounted for by Mr Tone.
If the government had not taken the steps it did, the same charge
would have been brought against its inertness. Such charges, indeed,
have been so made.

On Mr Tone's American adventures it is not necessary to dwell.
Mr Hamilton Rowan, who had escaped from prison, had reached
America before him. To this gentleman he applied to introduce him
to citizen Adet, the French ambassador at Philadelphia. He was
well received, and at once communicated his plans respecting the
possibility of an Irish invasion. During this negotiation he kept up
a correspondence with his Irish accomplices, Keogh, Russel, Tandy,
&c., who liberally supplied him with money. He had also a little
council of those members of the conspiracy, who like himself had been
forced to fly from the terror of their country's justice, and were now
collected about him in the United States. Under auspices so
favourable, his projects went smoothly on; and, after six months from
his landing, he again sailed for France, with such credentials from
Adet as were necessary to place him in communication with the
authorities. Here, once more, his diary proceeds with the same serio-
comic strain of disclosure, observation, and lively humour, always
amusing, and often valuable for its graphic sketches of men and
things. But we are with some reluctance forced to pass these, and
all details not immediately relevant to the expressed intent of this
memoir; a purpose but for which we should have dismissed Mr Tone
lightly indeed.

In France, the whole spirit of revolutionary fanaticism, which Mr
Tone was so long compelled to suppress, escapes in full flow from his
heart and eyes. " Here was no fiction ! and that it was that drew the
tears irresistibly to my eyes!" was the record and reflection of the
patriotic enthusiast at some of the displays of republican pomp and
power, which generally called forth the same amiable weakness.
" The tears were running down my cheeks when Carnot presented
the wreaths and standards to the soldiers. It was a spectacle worthy

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE.

of a grand republic, and I enjoyed it with transport — ' vive la repub-
lique.' " And again speaking of the troops, " I frequently find the tears
gush into my eyes when I am looking at them." — Talking of the grande
nation, he says, " the French are a humane people ; and I like them with
all their faults, and the guillotine at the head of them, a thousand times
better than the English," — these fine touches of sans culotte sentimen-
tality may help to show how congenial was the scene into which Mr
Tone was now transplanted. A strange medley of levity and atrocity,
of bonhomie and savage passions, flows so naturally through his pages,
as with great force to illustrate the character which we have already
assigned to the earlier self-portraitures of his life.

He presently finds his way to the levees of ministers and generals,
who recognised in him a fitting tool for the noble ambition of Young
France. His self-importance and exultation here burst from him, in
some strains of high rhodomontade. " Nothing but ministers and
directoire executif, and revolutionary memorials. Well, my friend
Plunkett, (but I sincerely forgive him,) and my friend Magee, whom
I have not yet forgiven, would not speak to me in Ireland, because I
was a republican. Sink or swim, I stand on as high ground to-day
as either of them. My venerable friend, old Captain Russel, had
hopes of me in the worst of times. Huzza! I believe that wiser men,
if they would speak the truth, would feel a little elevated in my situ-
ation, &c., &c." This glimpse of the naked heart reminds us of the
proverb — " as the fining-pot for silver, and the furnace for gold, so is
a man to his praise." Among other most interesting traits of this
species of elevation, the reader will be amused by this: — "The
devil puts it into my head sometimes that I am like Hannibal at the
court of Prusias, supplicating his aid to enable Carthage to make
war upon the Romans. There is a sort of analogy in the circum-
stances."— This is hard enough on poor Hannibal, it must be confessed ;
but surely unmerited: Mr Tone with his usual inadvertency had over-
looked the main features of either side of his " sort of analogy."

The main peculiarity of the negotiation in which he now became
actively engaged, is the keen and sly regard with which he keeps
sight of his own interests, — and the active and earnest perseverance
with which he pushes his suit. These might be illustrated at great
length from the source from which we have made so many extracts.
He obtained a commission of Chef de Brigade, and an advance of pay ;
and after many delays; much dancing attendance on the republican
functionaries; and a well-described interview with Buonaparte himself,
he has at last the satisfaction of seeing the wishes of his patriotic
breast realized.

The expedition to Bantry Bay followed; but by the merciful inter-
position of Providence, it was frustrated by a hurricane within sight of
its destination. At this point of his narrative, the journal of Mr
Tone becomes exceedingly interesting: the particulars of the expedi-
tion, and the incidents of a tedious cruise in and about Bantry Bay are
detailed with minute accuracy. The fleet is scattered by stress of
weather; gales of wind and heavy fogs succeed each other, as if com-
missioned to protect the coast; and the Frenchmen, discouraged by
these incidents, exhibit a tone of doubt as to the prudence of persever-

422 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

ing, which irritates the zealous temper of Mr Tone. Nevertheless he
was forced to see and confess that the diminution of their force had
become such as to destroy any prospect of success. Under these cir-
cumstances, his conduct was such as very strongly to illustrate that
view of his character and of his genuine sentiments, which we are
desirous to communicate. Without the only hope which could even
on his own principles (if so they can be called,) justify an attempt, he
shows the real impulses of his nature by proposing to do something for
the honour of the republic. Having several times, and in various forms,
expressed his sense that the horrors which he intended to inflict on
the community could only be justified by the great end ; his eagerness
to satisfy the piratical and the vindictive tendencies of his nature,
led him to urge the perpetration of those enormities without any end.
We are compelled to be sparing in our extracts ; but we affirm nothing
of which the journal of Mr Tone will not furnish a superabundant
evidence. He states, (vol. ii. p. 259,) that since we must look on the
main object as now unattainable, "it was now their duty," he urged,
" to see what could best be done for the honour and interest of the
republic with the force which remained in our hands ; and I proposed
to him to give me the Legion des Francs, a company of the Artillerie
legere, and as many officers as desired to come volunteers in the ex-
pedition, with what arms and stores remained, which are now reduced
by our separation, to four field-pieces, 20,000 fire-locks at most,
1,000 pounds of powder, and 3,000,000 of cartridges, and to land us in
Sligo Bay, and let us make the best of our way, &c." In the event of
failure, on which we must recollect that he calculated, he urges to the
commander, that " he knew what kind of desperadoes it was composed
of, and for what purpose ; consequently, in the worst event, the re-
public would be well rid of them ; finally, I added, that though I asked
the command, it was on the supposition that none of the generals would
risque their reputation on such a desperate enterprise, &c." It is here
apparent enough, that Mr Tone had dressed for himself a very tolerable
realization of the buccaniering visions of his early days. Not very
sanguine of success, and quite prepared for those terrible consequences
which he frequently pretends to deprecate with the "tyrant's plea" of
necessity, it becomes evident, on the most lenient construction, that he
could not resist the temptation of placing himself at the head of a band
of desperadoes, and the burning, murdering, and plundering warfare
which such an adventure implied. Such was the innate ambition of his
breast. Connected with it, there can be no doubt that the frequently
expressed ardour for revenge must at the moment have breathed fiercely
from his heart — the wounded self-conceit, and the sore spirit of disap-
pointment. One very amusing piece of naivete occurs during this
anxious moment, — he expresses his surprise at "the extreme sang
froid with which I view the coast, &c." " I do not, however, love my
country the less, for not having romantic feelings with regard to her.''
—Mr Tone was near stumbling on a discovery long communicated
to his readers; the same feelings he showed at different times towards
his father, and even his wife, he entertained towards his country, and
these were certainly not of the romantic order. These were all alike
the occasional objects on which a lively and self-concentrated sensibility

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 423

was reflected, and each of which he was ever ready to sacrifice for the
least of his passions, — pride, self-conceit, and the restless thirst for
adventure. One, indeed, of the surest indications of spurious sentiment,
is its inconsistency; it fails on the practical test of particular applica-
tions, and delights to rest in highflown generalities. Mr Tone's love
of country did not embrace his countrymen, of whom, as may be found
in his ample self-revelations, every rank and class, falls by turn under
his hate and scorn ; and it is indeed amply evident that a theory not
very definite, and a resolution to work it out, constitutes his whole
stock of patriotism. But in the perusal of Mr Tone's journals, there
are chapters of the morbid pathology of our nature far more interest-
ing than his politics, and offering many temptations to digress from
the history to the man. Few indeed have poured themselves so freely
on paper.

But amidst the gloom of disappointment, there appeared a transient
gleam of renewed hope to Mr Tone and his companions. On the day
after the entry last adverted to, the ardour of Mr Tone seems to have
spread, and nothing but a speedy landing was thought of. Mr Tone
grows delirious with triumph and delight, and has in the mean time
worked himself into a dream of success. "Huzza! I apprehend we are
this night 6000 of the most careless fellows in Europe ; for everybody
is in the most extravagant spirits on the eve of an enterprise, which,
considering our means, would make many people serious" — a patriot,
a man capable of reflection, of humanity and feeling, surely; but not
one who had thoroughly identified himself with the " desperadoes" by
whom Mr Tone was accompanied. His ardour was now and then
crossed by painful reflections; he speculates on the result of a battle;
and the chilling phantom of the gallows rises portentously among his
meditations, and evidently lays strong hold of his imagination; but he
nobly dismisses such gloomy shadows by the heroic reflection with
which we apprehend he could have consoled himself under any conceiv-
able circumstances— "Nothing on earth could sustain me now, but the
consciousness that I am engaged in a just and righteous cause." The
thoughts of his family now, as in former times, can be more easily
dismissed, than those inauspicious imaginings ; he adds — " for my
family, I have, by a desperate effort, surmounted my natural feelings
so far, that I do not think of them at this moment." If the reader
will give himself the trouble to look back to the history of the first
years of Mr Tone's married life, he will rightly appreciate the amount
of this " desperate effort."

In our selections from the journal on this occasion, we have only
aimed to bring forward the narrator himself. The details of an ex-
pedition which led to no result, though very instructive and enter-
taining, are needless here. Suffice it to say, that symptoms of the
abandonment of the enterprise quickly appeared. After having been
" six days in Bantry Bay, within five hundred yards of the shore," and
having their ships scattered, and diminished from 43 sail to 14, it was
settled to sail back to Brest, provided they could escape the English.
Mr Tone consoles himself with many characteristic reflections: de-
frauded by the cruel elements of all hope to " be great, nor famous,
nor powerful," he whispers to himself that he may be happy, and con-

424 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTII

jures up a dream of domestic felicity. It is nearly ludicrous under
these circumstances, how rapidly his moveable nature becomes invested
with the cast clothes of parental and conjugal tenderness, and he
straightway falls into new horrors about his separation from his wife
and " darling babies."

On the last day of the year 1796, he was once more on the way to
Brest; where, after a highly tempestuous passage, during which he
experienced some very alarming and disagreeable casualties, he arrived
on the first of January, 1797- Shortly after his arrival, Mr Tone was
transferred, with the rank of adjutant-general, to the army of the Sam-
bre and Meuse, under his friend general Clarke. This interval may
be passed — it was not of long duration. In the month of March, we
find him journalizing in Paris, leading the "life of a dog." Not being
quite a Frenchman, he felt deserted and alone, a state from which his
strongly social temper revolted. He becomes acquainted with Tom
Paine, and is of course captivated by his profound wisdom, and lofty
morality ; but has the sagacity to perceive that he is not absolutely
perfect. "I have been lately introduced to the famous Thomas Paine,
and like him very well. He is vain beyond belief; but he has reason
to be vain, and for my part I forgive him. He has done wonders for
the cause of liberty, both in America and Europe, and I believe him
to be conscientiously an honest man." And again, " he drinks like a
fish, — a misfortune I have known to befall other celebrated patriots. I
am told that the true time to see him to advantage is about ten at
night, with a bottle of brandy and water before him, which I can very
well conceive. I have not yet had that advantage; but must contrive
if I can, to sup with him at least one night, before I set off for the
army."

At this time, it is very observable, that the high animal spirits
which have hitherto sustained Mr Tone begin to fail very much.
The cause is, we believe, one very apparent through his journals, but
to which we have not adverted, — a habit of drunkenness early con-
tracted and sedulously kept up. The gloom attendant upon his cir-
cumstances of precarious adventure and friendless loneliness becomes
frequent, and in the same proportion, he discovers " that it is not
good for man to be alone;" and his yearnings after his wife and family
grow upon him with a force that seems in some degree to soften and
steady the picaroon in his heart.

His wife and family, whom he had left in America, had now reached
Hamburgh on their way to join him ; from which place, after some
time, they reached Paris in safety. At this time, several of the United
Irishmen had found their way to this capital, and Mr Tone under-
went much vexation from the low intrigues by which they endeavoured
to work their way to importance. They exerted themselves to dis-
credit each other with so much dexterity, that they succeeded in ob-
taining the contempt of men, whose principles were little better than
their own. Mr Tone, however, maintained his ground. Though lax in
his notions of right and wrong, he yet was governed and sustained by
that pride which was a strong trait of his character: he strove hard
to keep in favour with himself, and possessed a species of honour
accommodated to the general tenor of his conduct. He had by this

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 425

succeeded in convincing himself of the virtue and justice of his entire
course of action, and framed his own theory, according1 to which, acts
that the received notions of mankind consign to infamy, were either
justified or rendered honourable. Without justly considering this dis-
position (to which the tendencies are common enough, and generally
understood,) it is not easy to conceive Mr Tone's character, or to un-
derstand the occasional attitude of virtue and dignity which he seems
to assume. Indeed, so important is this to many parts of this memoir,
that we shall here extract a few of those reflections which now and
again distil from Mr Tone's pen — which stood to him in the stead of
a father confessor at times, in the total privation of social confidence to
which he was often, for long intervals, condemned. The reader of
his journals will often enough catch him in the task of proving to him-
self that he is not a knave. The following is a specimen: — "It is with
me a great proof of a man's integrity, when in times of revolution he
is alternately sacrificed by both parties." Mr Tone's case, it ought to
be noticed in passing, is precisely the most obvious exception to the
truth of this rule. Having been by one party spurned for his conduct
and opinions, and outlawed from honest men, he was now beginning to
be circumvented by the knavery of his associates. But let us hear
himself: — "In order to do any good, with any party, a man must make
great sacrifices, not only of his judgment, but what is much worse, I
Jear of his conscience also" ..." He must keep a sort of run-
ning account with his conscience, when he is to set off the good against
the bad, and if the balance be in his favour this is all he can expect."
Having made this highly descriptive statement of his moral code, he
adds with great naivete, " Thus far at least I have preserved my
principles," &c.

It was during this interval, in 1798, that accounts reached him of
the arrest of several of his old friends and associates. His comments
throw some light on the events to which they refer, and shall be used
for the purpose, when we shall again have come back to Irish ground.
He rails with violence against the Irish government for proceedings,
of which, in the same breath, he fully and unequivocally proves the
justice and confesses the necessity.

We must here pass directly to the last events of Mr Tone's life.
The death of general Hoche was considered to have terminated the
hopes of any expedition against Ireland on a grand scale; as this emi-
nent officer, together with a strong zeal, possessed the influence neces-
sary to carry his views into effect. Still there was a sense that the
state of Ireland offered prospects of successful conquest not to be
thrown away, though the naval force of England presented an obstacle
so great as to discourage any immediate sacrifice of means. Napoleon,
strongly intent on more apparently feasible objects, looked on Ireland
chiefly as an object to divert the attention, and divide the force of
England, the only power which held his projects in check. The Irish
expedition was, therefore, handed over to inferior men; and the low
state of the republican finances rendered doubtful the prospect of any
further effort. Some impulse was, however, now given by the reports
of the insurrectionary movements which at last began to appear in
Ireland, and it was determined that something should be attempted.

426 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

On this occasion the opinions offered, and the plans proposed by the
persons to whom the concerting of the invasion seems to have been
left, as stated by Mr Tone, display the most farcical ignorance of
everything connected with the subject. Mr Tone was, as usual,
alert, urgent, and sagacious, and seems to have exerted himself suc-
cessfully to set them right, and to prompt their motions. At last a
plan was arranged, which we are told might have been successful, had
it not been too late. This plan was to send small detachments to dif-
ferent parts, so as to spread and keep alive the rebellion, until the main
force could be sent.

In consequence of this scheme, a small expedition first sailed from
Rochelle, under general Humbert, with one thousand men. He was
accompanied by a few Irishmen, among whom were Matthew Tone
and Bartholomew Teeling. Towards the end of August they landed
in Killala Bay, and immediately stormed the town. Satisfied with this
first fruit of French valour in Ireland, Humbert loitered here, drilling
Irish peasants, and enjoying the hospitality of the bishop. The report
of general Lake's approach, however, roused him, and he advanced to
meet his enemy. Lake had been hastily detached to check the advance
of the French — they met near Castlebar, and Lake's detachment was
defeated. We shall give the particulars further on, as we are here only
concerned with the fate of Mr Tone. Humbert's expedition, which
had been precipitated by his own impatience, and without awaiting
the consent of the Directory, while it perplexed his government, at the
same time hurried their movements; and the news of his success which
reached them, unaccompanied by any account of the following defeat,
gave added impulse to further preparations. A few days decided
Humbert's fate, he having been surrounded and compelled to lay down
his arms by lord Cornwallis at Ballinamuck. Matthew Tone, with
Teeling, were taken and executed. The mass of the United Irishmen,
then in Paris, followed in a small vessel, with Napper Tandy at their
head. They landed on the north-west coast of Ireland, and finding
the real state of affairs, they made their escape, after sending out a
few proclamations.

The third party was commanded by general Hardy, with three
thousand men: in this flotilla, there were but four Irishmen, of whom
one was Mr Tone. Mr Tone was in the Hoche, in which the admiral
had set up his flag.

Mr Tone had, it is asserted by his son, no hope of success ; he
clearly saw that the time was past, the means inadequate, and the ex-
pedition by which this was to be followed up, unlikely to be executed.
But from his own memoirs we also learn, that though Mr Tone pos-
sessed very considerable acuteness and sagacity, he was strongly under
the control of the adventure-loving temperament which was the demon
that ruled him ; he cherished a strong presentiment of success, which
he expresses or betrays in many ways. He had nevertheless sufficient
apprehensions of the possibility of a fatal event, to lead him into some
curious speculations as to the conduct he should pursue, if taken, and
came to the resolution never to suffer the indignity of a public execu-
tion. Suicide he considered, in such a danger, to be no more than
choosing the mode of his death.

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 427

It was on the 20th September, 1798, when, as the younger Tone
justly observes, the only circumstances that could afford any prospect
of success had completely terminated, that this expedition sailed from
the bay of Camaret. It consisted of one 74, and eight frigates. " To
avoid the British fleets, Bompart took a large sweep to the westward,
and then to the northeast, in order to bear down on the northern
coast of Ireland, from a quarter where a French force would be least
expected." His fleet was scattered by contrary winds, and the Hoche
was accompanied by three frigates only, when, after a course of twenty
days, they reached Lough S willy. On the llth of October, at day-
break, he saw a fleet of six sail of the line and two frigates bearing
down upon him. As nothing could be expected from resistance, and
as the 74 could not hope even to escape, from the tide having
ebbed and low water, Bompart signalled his frigates to escape, and
the schooner having sent a boat for orders, the French officers urged
that Mr Tone should save himself. He refused — and as the case was
one which admitted of no result but his death or capture, it is not
easy to see on what ground, consistent with the most ordinary discre-
tion, he could have come to such a decision. A sentiment of military
pride is expressed in the answer reported by his son, " Shall it be
said that I fled while the French were fighting the battles of my
country ?"

The Hocbe was presently attacked by two British ships, the
Robust and the Magnanime, and presently after by the Amelia; while
the frigates were some attacked and some pursued by the remaining
vessels of the British squadron, — three of the French frigates, Am-
buscade, Coquile, and Bellone, remaining with, and supporting the
Hoche. At half-past ten, after a gallant resistance, when masts, sails,
rigging, and hull, were shattered, and five feet water in her hold, the
Hoche struck — the Ambuscade struck also in another hour, when the
Coquile, with the other vessel, attempted to escape and was pursued.
The Coquile was caught, made a brave fight, and surrendered. One
British vessel, the Anson, had been disabled by the weather, and
was compelled to remain far to leeward of the action. She was
attacked by five French frigates and greatly damaged ; but after sus-
taining an engagement for nearly three hours, she was relieved by the
approach of the other vessels of the fleet. The Melampus was still
in pursuit of the French frigate, the Bellone, until about two o'clock,
when a very severe action followed, in which the Bellone, after a
desperate resistance, lowered her colours. On the following day, the
Resolue, and a few days after, the Loire, were taken by the Melam-
pus and Anson, and lastly, the Immortalite by the Fisgard; so that
out of the whole squadron, but two frigates and a schooner escaped.
The French fought with the utmost bravery in. each instance, while
there was any possibility of resistance. We should have been con-
tent simply to indicate the result of this action, were it not that the
account given by Mr Tone (the younger) is a vapouring misrepresen-
tation from beginning to end.

Tone took an active part in the fight. He took charge of a battery,
and exposed himself fearlessly to the British fire. He was not re-
cognised among the other prisoners when taken, having completely

428 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

acquired the appearance, language, and manner of a Frenchman.
There had been, however, a suspicion that he was in the expedition,
and as a matter of course, there was immediate inquiry. It so
happened that the French officers were invited to breakfast with
the earl of Cavan, who was commander of the district. A gentleman
•who happened to be of the party recognised Mr Tone, and apprised
lord Cavan of the real character of his guest. Of course, duty pre-
scribed a single course; Mr Tone was arrested and sent to Dublin to
stand his trial. Another account, on the very questionable authority
of Parisian rumour, is given by Mr Tone's son, which may be fairly
omitted. We cannot reasonably find fault with the writer for the
bitterness of his comments, for he was a son ; or for their absurdity,
as they were, according to his education and ideas of fitness, quite
reasonable. It was according to the principles of the Tones, the
Tom Paines, the Jacobins, and the United Irishmen, quite fit and just,
that an illustrious advocate of the rights of man, whose patriotism
had prompted him to scatter sedition and treason at home — to plot
the overthrow of the institutions, laws, and aristocracy of his country —
to levy war against the government — to delude the people to slaughter
— to prompt and guide the enemies of all governments to his native
shores; — it was fit, according to the principles of Mr Tone, his family
and friends, that he should be allowed to conceal these noble and
heroic deserts under the garb of a foreign enemy. We admit, indeed,
that in peaceable times, humanity would gladly wink on the escape
of a man so amiable in his social character as Mr Tone. There is a
very natural and not misplaced commiseration for an educated and
talented gentleman ; but Ireland was no place, and it was no time to
leave it to be supposed, that deeds so flagrant as those of Mr Tone
should be connived at by a magistrate under so flimsy a pretext, and
in so unwarrantable an expedition. There seems to be in the human
mind some lurking hostility to laws and institutions, which is shown by
a very peculiar inconsistency of language and sentiment, that would
seem most strange if it were not nearly conventional. The most
depraved and most guilt-stained ruffian, who is convicted for the
violation of every right and principle of humanity, seems not only to
be the object of an involuntary popular commiseration, but is honoured
and respected in comparison with the person who detects and drags
him to justice. The sentiment can to a certain extent be justified ;
but if clearly analyzed, it would in the main appear to be a popular
fallacy — a maxim invented for the continuance and protection of vice.
But if we admit Mr Tone to have been in some degree a fair object
of compassion, it must be affirmed that Sir George Hill would have
been sadly wanting to his duty, as a magistrate, a gentleman, and even
as a patriot, to allow him to pass.

A belief in the rectitude of his own intentions had, as we have
already explained, grown up in Mr Tone's mind. His talents ; the con-
tinued trials through which he had passed ; his high courage ; his pride ;
the emergency of his situation ; all had communicated a sense of ele-
vation and a dignity to his mind. As is usual with all men, he had
taught himself to justify and exalt his ends and their motives, to talk
and think of high-sounding actions, and to let the evil accompani-

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 429

ments and consequences lurk tacitly in the train of contingencies. He
only occasionally turned inward to the latent thirst of vengeance so
often expressed; the deluge of gentle and noble blood, and the woe
and desolation which he was to bring into thousands of peaceful homes,
he did not allow himself to dwell upon ; the plunders and confisca-
tions, the real reward of his fiery venture, he satisfied himself with
a side glance of, which told him they would be matters of course; the
butchery of thousands of the hapless peasantry in many a disgraceful
field, he looked on as a necessary sacrifice to the phantom of liberty
he worshipped; it did not occur to him to look very narrowly on the
very success for which he but faintly hoped. On the whole he came
now, sobered by adversity, and self-exalted by error, a brave and de-
voted man, the hero of a false and evil creed.

This view of his character is essential to explain the last scenes of
his life. Whatever were the intrinsic merits of his life and deeds, he
stood before his judges in the character of a brave and self-approving
man.

He was, of course, quite aware that his life was the forfeit of his
offences. It has been asserted that he entertained some hope of
immunity on account of the commission he bore in the French army.
This is hard to believe; and is denied by his son who very truly ob-
serves, that the speech he made on his trial does not permit this notion.
But on his arrival in Dublin, a court-martial was summoned to try
him. Against this he strongly protested, on what seems to us a very
fair and strong plea; he bore no commission in the British army, and
had a right to be tried by the civil jurisdiction of the country. It
however appears, that at first he rather looked on this selection of a
tribunal as advantageous, as offering the hope of a military execution.

After a few days' delay, the court-martial met on 1 Oth November,
1798. The trial was shortened by the full and free admission of "all
the facts alleged." Mr Tone offered no defence, nor did he by a word
impugn the jurisdiction of the court ; he only begged to be allowed
to read a paper in vindication of his motives and conduct. This the
court allowed, under the impression that it was the prisoner's object
to offer such extenuations as might lead to a mitigation of the sen-
tence. No such thing was in the intention of Mr Tone. He only
felt that the eyes of France were upon him, and aimed to vindicate
his honour by an open avowal and assertion of the principles of his
life and actions. The court stopped him twice, from a humane con-
sideration that his defence was a strong aggravation of his offence,
and more likely to injure than to serve him. But Mr Tone assured
them that such was not the object of his address. He was quite con-
scious of the real position in which he stood, and knew well that a
pardon in his case, would be an abandonment of the principles of the
constitution. But in fact, as he proceeded, his language became such
that it was not quite consistent with the dignity of the tribunal before
which he stood, to listen to it ; he was checked with great forbear-
ance and courtesy ; and concluded with a few sentences. The court
was sensibly affected by the courage and calm resignation of the
prisoner's manner and address. After a short silence, he inquired
if there was not usually an interval between the sentence and execu-

430 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

tion. The question was not answered, as the court had first to trans-
mit the report of their proceedings to the lord-lieutenant ; but asked
him if he had anything more to say. On this he expressed his desire
to die as a soldier. He added, " I request that indulgence, rather in
consideration of the uniform which I bear — the uniform of a chef de
Brigade in the French army — than from any personal regard to my-
self." To attest this claim, he gave in his commission. He was told
by the judge-advocate that it would be a proof against him, which he
admitted; but observed that he had admitted the facts, and now ad-
mitted those papers as added proofs.

Two days after, he was sentenced to be hanged in forty-eight
hours.

The justice of the sentence was nowhere complained of; but the
court was considered as irregular. Mr Tone was not in the military
service of the crown, nor was Dublin at the time under military law.
The court of King's Bench was sitting, and the whole proceeding ap-
peared to be an infringement of its jurisdiction. We may just observe,
that the case was anomalous, and such, as for some very obvious rea-
sons required to be met by a special mode of proceeding. A rebel
taken prisoner in battle is subject, in the first instance, to martial
law, as could easily be proved. Open war is the case of last extrem-
ity, and a military court the tribunal of last resort. Mr Tone was
amenable to such a court, not as charged with treason, but as taken in
the ranks of an invading army. There was no trial, or ground for
trial, in the common sense of the words : it was one of those flagrant
military cases, in which, by a wise policy, the forms of trial are pre-
served, though there is nothing to be tried. The equity of criminal
justice was not in question; the question simply was one which affected
the privileges of the King's Bench; and to talk of any wrong to the
prisoner, is merely nonsense. The proper question, therefore, would
be, whether in such a case as here described, the jurisdiction of the
King's Bench could properly be pleaded against the king; that is,
supposing such a plea to be put in, in that court, in proper time and
form. But Mr Tone not only pleaded before the military court, but
pleaded guilty: there was, in fact, no suit and no party. The pro-
ceeding in the King's Bench which followed, was at the least nuga-
tory. It did not proceed from any jealousy about the purity of
justice — in strict justice Mr Tone might have been hanged when he
was taken — but was simply an ebullition of a very opposite feeling,
combined, we most fully believe, with an uncalculating humanity.

The policy of government was perfectly understood on all sides.
It was not actuated by any sentiment towards Mr Tone. But it was
not a time — while the yet sparkling embers of a bloody rebellion, of
which Mr Tone and his associates were the instigators, lay scattered
through town and country — to make the King's Bench the rostrum of
seditious and inflammatory harangues. There were still United Irish-
men unhanged and untransported, enough to raise another very san-
guinary rebellion. It was fit, under the dreadful existing circum-
stances, that the protecting interposition of the executive should, if
required, follow the crime which directly struck at its existence, even
if necessary to the sanctuary of the law.

PERIOD.] THEOBALD WOLFE TONE. 431

The friends of Mr Tone knew very well that he could not be acquit-
ted. But it was thought that the sentence might be deferred until the
French government could have time to interfere. With this view Mr
Curran made a humane effort to interpose the authority of the court
of King's Bench.

The following is the account of the proceeding in the King's Bench:

" Mr Curran, assisted by Mr Burrowes, began by the endeavour to
raise a subscription for the purpose of forming a bar. In this he failed.
He determined to proceed alone. On the next day — the day appoint-
ed for the execution — he moved for a Habeas Corpus, to be directed
to the provost-mars-hal of the barracks," &c. Such a motion could
not be refused. The chief justice, lord Kil warden, answered — " Have
a writ instantly prepared." Mr Curran answered — " My client may
die while the writ is preparing." On which lord Kilwarden said —
" Mr Sheriff, proceed to the barracks, and acquaint the provost-mar-
shal that a writ is preparing to suspend Mr Tone's execution, and see
that he be not executed." The sheriff went, leaving the court in a
state of excitement, and returned to state the refusal of the provost-
marshal; and Mr Tone's father, who had been sent to serve the
habeas corpus, came back to say that general Craig refused to obey
it. Lord Kilwarden said — " Mr Sheriff, take the body of Tone into
custody — take the provost marshal and Major Sandys into custody,
and show the order of court to general Craig."

But there had been another actor in this tragic drama, on whose
movements they had not calculated, and this was Mr Tone himself.
On the night before, he had executed his predetermined purpose
of suicide, by cutting his throat with a penknife. This was the ac-
count next brought into court by the sheriff. The wound had been
closed by a surgeon, who pronounced that four days must elapse before
the result could be pronounced upon.

It was on the morning of the 19th that decided symptoms of ap-
proaching death appeared. The surgeon whispered, that if he
attempted to move or speak, he must expire instantly. Mr Tone took
the inadvertent hint. He made a slight movement and spoke — " I can
yet find words to thank you, Sir ; it is the most welcome news you
could give me. What should I wish to live for?" and expired.

This memoir has been little else than a comment. Such, indeed,
was its design. To accomplish this design more fully, we must remind
the reader of what it was. The history of that period has been almost
uniformly written by persons of strong political opinions, and simply
as a method of attack. It has also been mainly used by one, and that
the popular party ; and is consequently one-sided in a very peculiar
degree. While the opposite party in that day, was driven to very
strong and decisive resources, for the maintenance of order, their oppo-
nents had recourse to language of extreme violence, such, indeed, as
may be abundantly exemplified from the pages of the Tones. This
was aggravated by the casual circumstance of such men as Mr Grat-
tan having lent their oratorical talents to the popular side. The
consequence was, that the reproaches of mere party animosity, as well
as the whole torrent of misrepresentations, always the missiles of popu-
lar faction, have floated doAvn the stream of tradition, until it has

432 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

become nearly too late to contradict them; and candour seems forced to
admit, that when so much is charged, and so little denied, much must
be true.

We have thought it, therefore, of much importance, to lay before
the reader some very plain facts on authority which could not well be
denied. They have been selected to show that there was first a revo-
lutionary spirit, propagated by educated men for many years, and quite
independent of any faults of government ; that this was maturing rapidly
into a revolutionary movement; that actual fraternization with France
was the immediate means proposed; that a plan was adopted of in-
veigling the Roman catholics into a participation "with these objects ;
that this effect was partially successful among the middle classes, and
eminently so among the lower — On the other side, that the English
government was at the time in justifiable alarm, and menaced by
Jacobinical societies at home, and war from abroad; that Ireland has
been known to be the weak side, when the enemies of England might
be expected to strike; that, consequently, under the circumstances
stated in the foregoing sentence, a very energetic policy was called
for. The government adopted two courses — one was to conciliate
(we are not here concerned in the wisdom of conciliation) the church
of Rome — the other to take direct measures of defence. That these
defensive measures disappointed the Jacobinical accomplices of Mr
Tone is admitted — it is for this reason alone natural to infer that
they irritated them, and all who entered into their views, or believed
their promises.

Such was the state of things, out of which a fierce insurrection
arose. It demanded the whole vigour of the executive to put it down ;
it was quelled by proportioned means. The event was felt as a griev-
ance by Mr Tone's party; and, of course, the means could not escape.
In the following memoirs we shall relate the main events.

, 3Earl of Clare.

BOHS A. D. 1749. — DIED A. D. 1802.

THE father of the eminent man whose name stands at the head of
this memoir, was a barrister of first-rate eminence, who is mentioned
as having realized a property of £6000 a-year.

His son, John Fitzgibbon, was born in 1749- He was early des-
tined for the bar, and received a suitable education. At an early age
he entered college in the Dublin university. There he was contem-
porary with Grattan, and many other well-known men. His rival in
the competition for academic honours, was Mr Grattan. We are in-
formed that Mr Grattan had the advantage in the beginning; as,
however, the course became more extensive, by the usual addition of
more difficult books, Mr Fitzgibbon took the lead. Without the keen
and electric vivacity, which distinguished his able competitor, he was
endowed with a severer reason, and a more solid and sober judgment.

He was quickly called to the bar; and, while his father's weight
may have operated to introduce him to the notice of the profession,

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 433

he exerted a degree of energy, industry, and commanding talent, that
required no stepping-stone to success.

In 1777, he was retained as counsel against the return of Mr
Richard Hely Hutchinson, as member for the university ; and the
election of this gentleman having been declared null, be was himself
elected by the university. This was the commencement of his poli-
tical life. He from the first became the strenuous supporter of the
government, without solicitation or the hopes of reward. Heir to a
large property, and realizing a considerable income, his professional
industry was mainly prompted by the natural temper of a mind en-
dowed with great and intense powers, looking for its appropriate
sphere of exertion. To the honours of his profession he looked for-
ward, as the distinction to be attained by very superior abilities ; and
by every rightly-tempered mind, it will be felt that to such a man
they could have no value in any other way. That his support of
government was no less independent will be easily admitted by those
who candidly weigh the whole character and conduct of the man, the
persons he opposed, the state of affairs on which his sagacity was ex-
erted, the reasons he offered, or what may sum up all, the well-reasoned
system of principle on which he acted. These considerations must
form the material part of this memoir. After the statements of those
immediately preceding, it would be poor affectation to attempt dis-
guising the fact, that we consider it as our present duty, to vindicate
an illustrious Irishman from a weight of aspersion, of the very lowest
and most cowardly kind — cowardly, because it has never been dared,
so far as we are yet aware, to venture on any direct or circumstantial
accusation, by facts that might be brought home on testimony, or placed
in the wrong by the exposure consequent on fair and direct investiga-
tion. The injustice we have to notice and stigmatize, has been curi-
ously and even singularly effected by a continued fire of incidental and
vague imputations, which, without much meaning, seem to imply more
than would be directly hazarded. And as the history of his period,
has no popular vehicle but in the political pamphlet and speech —
such imputations have gathered public authority from time. The
upholders of the system of crime and error, against which it is his
honourable distinction to have been the champion of the constitution,
have still continued to re-echo the same vague language, with the same
malignant feeling ; and the consequence is, that many who thoroughly
hold the opinions and belong to the same political class as lord Clare,
are vaguely impressed, that so much evil and so little good cannot
have been written of any man if he had not deserved it. And this is
no less than the statement of a question.

The answer to this question is the true history of the time of lord
Clare, and the best monument of his life. We shall now be enabled
to discuss briefly, as we have already endeavoured in the immediately
preceding lives, to lay down at length, with sufficient authority, the
grounds of our decisions. We shall now have only to present them
in a more arranged and summary form. Indeed, one difficulty alone
impedes our intent, and it is one which has accompanied us through
all the foregoing statements. Popular errors are so often so very
absurdly fallacious, that their exposure cannot escape the charge of

VOL. V. 2 E

434 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

serious trifling1. In looking, with many full details before us, on the
whole facts which are involved in our history, (and all our authorities
are popular, many of them republican writers,) the conduct of the
government is, with incidental exceptions, so entirely right, and their
adversaries, by their own admissions, so wholly wrong, that we shrink
from the course of truism into which we are compelled to enter. For
this, perhaps no apology should be made in a popular history; but we
may say that the fault belongs to the corrupt theories, and false, or
rather fallacious narratives, which have perverted history, and assas-
sinated the reputation of individuals, both of which it is a part of our
duty to rectify.

In 1784, Mr Fitzgibbon was appointed attorney-general. In this
important office, — which was due to his professional reputation, as
well as to the high qualifications manifested in his parliamentary
conduct, — he proved the wisdom of the selection by the firmest op-
position to the popular leaders, who, acting as they did, from praise-
worthy motives, yet pursued an improvident course, of which the sober
constitutional sagacity of the attorney-general could remotely discern
the future consequences. Men, such as Mr Grattan and his brilliant
circle of associates, having much talent and virtue, but a (necessarily)
superficial knowledge of the law and of constitutional workings, were,
and always will be, disposed to dwell with disproportioned stress on
the trite outlines, — the popular part, — of constitutional science; and
this without a sufficiently distinct perception of their precise ends,
effects, and applications : the name of Magna Charta, of trial by
jury, habeas corpus, &c., familiar as household words, and consecrated
by British freedom, with them will take the place of elementary prin-
ciples. They speak from, and appeal to, splendid prejudices, with an
entire unconsciousness of time, place, and public tendencies ; and
would use the same language in Otaheite as in the British house of
commons. In pleading what they looked upon as the cause of Ire-
land, their recollections of English history, and of the oratory of
Chatham and his contemporaries, were floating uppermost in their
thoughts. Of the real state, temper, condition, and civilization of
the Irish peasantry, they knew little. Of the peculiar constitutional
tendencies of Ireland they were unaccountably heedless. It did not enter
their contemplation, that some of the concessions they contended for
were beyond the advance, and inconsistent with the social constitu-
tion of the country; that others must be nugatory at the time; that
in obtaining some advantages of a doubtful nature, and some which
were but nominal, they were employing a destructive instrumenta-
lity; some of the consequences of which the wisest of them lamented,
but which sober and rightly informed wisdom must have foreseen as
inevitable.

It was early seen by Mr Fitzgibbon that the civilization of Ireland
was beset on every side by an iron pressure from without ; that there
were still two distinct communities, of which the civilized was, for
some time longer, to be protected from the uncivilized. That such
a state of things, anomalous as it was, and accompanied by other
gross anomalies, demanded a stronger system of executive power —
a truth which no impartial reasoner can miss. It was also a conse-

PERIOD-] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 435

quence, easy to foresee, that popular requisition might become insati-
able; that the sentiment of gratitude is confined to individuals, in
their individual capacity; and that concession, while simply considered
as such, can only lead to fresh and continual demand. There was one
truth more, which was in the compass of Mr Fitzgibbon's observation
— that popular requisition, when it happens to be the mere echo of
the agitators' demands, has seldom any intent but that of raising and
maintaining a struggle against power. When the populace cry aloud
for bread, they are sincere ; when they ask for parliamentary reform,
it is not certain that they know what they mean. — In Ireland, and
in Mr Fitzgibbon's time, it is certain they did not. Of this last
instance especial notice must, indeed, be here taken. It is to be
noted, that the party that was most clamorous about it was that of
the United Irishmen. They looked for it as the direct preliminary
to republicanism; and they were wise in their generation. We shall
presently state, in order, the outline of our reasons for this view.

With views conceived in a spirit of sober, legal, and constitu-
tional knowledge, and wholly opposed to the theatrical legislation of
the popular school, Mr Fitzgibbon entered on his most arduous poli-
tical career, and soon became as remarkable in the house of commons
for his eloquence, courage, and firm resolution, as at the bar for legal
ability. An instance of his courage and self-possession has been re-
peated by his biographers, which we ought not to omit here, because
it also indicates the sincerity of spirit in which his part was taken.
We extract it as it may be found in many recent publications: — " At
a time when a popular ferment, produced by various causes, strongly
prevailed in the metropolis of Ireland, a general meeting of the inha-
bitants was, at the requisition of several respectable persons, called
by the sheriffs. His lordship, then attorney-general, and one of the
most unpopular men in the kingdom, came to the meeting, accom-
panied only by one or two friends, and forced his way through the
mob, who had latterly been in the habit of offering personal insults
to those whom they suspected of being adverse to their measures;
and getting upon the hustings, interrupted a popular orator in the
midst of his harangue. He then told the sheriffs that they had acted
illegally in convening the meeting; commanded them to leave the
chair; and threatened them with an information ex officio, if they pre-
sumed to continue it. He then left the astonished and staring assem-
bly, amidst the hisses of the mob, and the sheriffs instantly dissolved
the meeting.''

Mr Fitzgibbon appreciated at their proper value the hisses of a
Dublin rabble; but we think it will be allowed that he showed, on
this occasion, the strong masculine energy of that character which
his time so eminently required. It was, indeed, a time which de-
manded all the stronger and rougher virtues, which are constituted to
brave danger, to be prompt in emergency, and self-possessed in con-
fusion, and scornful of the comments of opinion.

In the summer of 1789? Mr Fitzgibbon was promoted to the station
of lord chancellor; and is said to have been the first native of Ireland
who held this dignity. It was a trying moment for the responsibility
attached, at that period, to an officer who sat so near the place of

436 POLITICAL SERIES. [Finn

highest authority. He was, at the same time, raised to the peerage,
by the title of baron Fitzgibbon of Lower Conelloe. In his legal
capacity he is to be praised for the promptitude of his decisions: a
quality which, to minds of ordinary power, is sure to suggest the re-
proach of premature and ill-digested conclusions. But it does not
appear, from the only correct test, of appeals, that his judgments were
liable to such a reproach. And in this, as in all other things, it
must be kept in view that he has been the mark of the most un-
favourable misrepresentation, founded on party hostility.

It was the interval between this period and 1798, that brought on
the most perilous and appalling crisis in the history of England : the
violent shock of the French revolution, which soon shattered to
the ground and overwhelmed every other government. In England
the eloquence of Burke, the firmness, energy, and practical wisdom
of Pitt, the good sense of the British people, aided and directed by
a higher Providence, saved the nation. In Ireland it was far different.
The same disorganizing opinions which shook England and deluged
Europe in blood, fell upon a region capacitated for its reception.
A previous military organization — additionally fermented by the
organization of the volunteers — a native tendency to conspiracies —
a national temper alive to all inflammatory suggestions — an ignorance
credulous of every absurdity — poverty, suffering, and discontent, with
other causes which we shall presently set out in order, prepared
the way for the heaviest visitation of evil that could fall upon a
people. While our orators and patriots were making splendid decla-
mations on the constitutional defects and imperfections of a nearly
barbarous country, the foundations of society were on the point of
falling asunder. They talked of ordering the rooms and arranging
the furniture while the house was on fire. Looking with a mind
instructed by events, and comprehending the whole compass of
incidents, then working up, it is curious how much like academical
declamation, now appears much of the powerful oratory of the most
celebrated men of that period.

A general view of the history of this country for the thirty years
immediately preceding the entrance of lord Clare into public life,
discloses a process of social change, not to be paralleled in the history
of time. It was modified by the native temperament of the people;
by the peculiarities of their position, religious and political, as well as
by the operation of circumstances somewhat more casual in their
nature. All these have been variously stated, and illustrated in the
preceding pages. We must now bring them into their connected and
consecutive order. They will, if we mistake not, present the con-
vincing evidence of a chain of causes and effects.

A population, uncivilized and ignorant, and consequently poor and
low in the social scale ; full of natural vivacity of temperament both
in mind and body, and therefore open to the control of impulses and
influences ; actually subjected to two very powerful influences, reli-
gious and political, connected with these more broad, moral, and physi-
cal features. Other tendencies not less efficient, are also to be added;
a military temper — a love of confederacy, and a spirit of party —
an obstinate adhesiveness to standards and notions, and a singular

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 437

dislike to new ideas — intellect, acute and subtle, yet slow to learn
— keen to observe on the surface, yet not very capable of distinction
or combination. These characteristics, very strongly traceable in
the Irish peasantry, form, it needs hardly be said, a very striking
combination, and characteristic of a people capable of a very high
development.

The peasantry thus constituted was for many generations placed
within the action of a complex combination of the most disorganizing
and corrupting influences. First, a succession of plots, wars, mas-
sacres, with the terrible justice of subjugations, attainders, and laws
restrictive, coercive, and penal. The awful struggle between an old
and new order of things, terminating a state of permanent anarchy
and confusion, but itself necessarily fertile in calamity.

Then came a singular state of things. A nation uncivilized, and
full of the foregoing elements, yoked to a nation highly matured in
laws, manners, knowledge, and wealth, and receiving from the con-
nexion, an infusion of most heterogeneous qualities. A gentry with
English language, knowledge, and legal notions, of the Protestant
church, and fully instructed in the advantages of the British consti-
tution; with a population wholly unfit for it.

Such are the elementary materials from which our constructions
are to be derived, the just and accurate interpretation of a chapter
of history which has been perplexed and obscured by the misrepre-
sentation of party statement. It is indeed from their due application
that the entire scope of Irish history can alone be correctly com-
posed. We are here to apply them to a narrow point.

Preparatory to the growth of the United Irishmen, and the intro-
duction of republican principles, a secret military organization had
been extensively introduced, with the same general intents in 1763.
Secret correspondence with France, then not a recent but an ancient
custom, was actively carried on, and foreign emissaries were numer-
ously and busily employed in concert with plotting or malcontented
Irishmen, to excite an excitable and war-loving populace to the com-
binations they were so ready to enter. The Whiteboys were the off-
spring of these exertions. With the usual expertness of conspiracy,
pretexts of an open and declared kind concealed the real ends. The
people were bound to silence and arms, by an oath already stated.*
We here omit to lay any stress on the fact, that the species of secret
correspondence, by which states at war with England never failed
to disturb the quiet of Ireland in the same way, by means of emis-
saries of every description civil or ecclesiastical, had facilitated the
practice of this sort of intercourse ; which never at any time from the
days of red Hugh O'Donnel to Robert Emmet, had entirely ceased,
unless for very brief intervals immediately succeeding some dreadful
outbreak and its still more fearful suppression. It will suffice to say,
that there existed in Ireland, from the combination of causes here
enumerated, a constant preparation and predisposition for receiving
the slightest breath of hostility to England and the English, or the
least encouragement to military organization!

* Life of Tone, p. 406.

433 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTU

Between the Whiteboy conspiracy, the American war, and the
beginning of the French revolution, no intervals worth our consider-
ation occurred. The institution of the volunteers, rising from occa-
sions and among classes wholly distinct from those hitherto adverted
upon in this memoir, nevertheless can be shown to have acted upon,
and been quickly modified by the constitutional diseases of the land.
If we may adopt a physical illustration, a violent inflammatory action
having been introduced into certain tissues, hitherto sound, was
rapidly diffused into the unhealthy surrounding parts already predis-
posed to a morbid action, which being thus excited soon pervaded the
frame and converted all to disease. The military rage of Ireland
was called forth by the fame, the splendour, and the achievements of
the volunteers — their kindling oratory, and the well-intended, but
not very constitutional meetings, resolutions, and interpositions. The
sober, spirited, and high-minded sentiment that called up this body,
soon became like the body itself, and all such bodies, copiously
adulterated with a baser element. It became louder, bolder, and
more peremptory and encroaching. Still it took its tone and shaped
its requisitions, from the dictation of its aristocratic leaders, and
spoke a constitutional language, though not in a constitutional man-
ner or form : and thus it was that there arose the great pretext of
parliamentary reform, which was kept so industriously in the front of
every scheme.

But at the same time another terrible disorder of a far more ener-
getic, pervading, and fatal type, had been conveyed through its old
hereditary channels to the popular mind. The revolutionary fana-
ticism of the day, which shook even the English constitution to its
centre, lighted in Ireland on a more congenial soil. In the former
country it was openly impeached and openly confounded by the elo-
quence of an Irishman; in Ireland it had a different fate. Too refined
and subtle in its essential philosophy for an uneducated peasantry, it
found among the more educated class immediately above them, a
willing acceptation and Irish secrecy.

Hence the United Irishmen. These persons were the boldest, most
enterprising, and ablest of the parties to which they belonged; and it,
of course, became their policy to avail themselves of the party politics
and the system of means actually in existence. Two great pretexts
cemented the popular leaders — reform and catholic emancipation. —
By the instrumentality of these the essential doctrine of republicanism
was to be propagated. The process was simpler than may be thought :
it was enough to proselyte a certain number of leading orators. The
peasantry required no particular doctrine; for them it would, then,
have been enough to ascribe their low condition, their real suffer-
ings, and their imaginary grievances to any cause, and promise redress
by any means. Some would follow the spiritual ensign ; others their
leaders, and all were ready for the sport of arms. But with every
class appropriate pretexts were used, and the whole conducted to a
common understanding, suitable to the real designs of the United
Irishmen, in the expectation of finding their several objects furthered
by the aid of France.

These considerations are of the utmost importance to a correct

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 439

view of the time — Without them a student of its history must he
misled by the strong statements of the persons concerned in its trans-
actions. Any one who attentively reads the affirmations of O'Conor,
M'Nevin, T. A. Emmet, &c., when examined by parliamentary com-
mittees, must be imposed upon by their strong and not untrue (but
equivocal) declarations, which attribute none but legitimate objects
to their adherents, up to a certain point of time. They did not think
it necessary to enlighten the government or expose themselves. They
were animated also by a patriotic, though wrongheaded sentiment,
and they felt and manifested a strong desire to take the opportunity
to lecture their examiners. These gentlemen knew that from the
beginning — and it was so whether they understood it or not — that
the bulk of their partisans were prepared to follow them to the field,
and to join the enemy of England, for any cause or in any name;
and that the real question was not as to principles, but as to conduct
and designs.

Lastly. — All these circumstances were known to all the classes of
society ; for every one knows that there are many ways in which a
widely-extended state of popular conspiracy transpires, so as without
any distinct revelation to communicate a dark impression of terror
and alarm. It was fully known to the watchful and sagacious ob-
servation of government, and most of all to the person who is the
subject of this memoir, that the government was widely undermined
by a black and formidable conspiracy in strict concert with France.
But, such was the perfect organization for secrecy that no available
clue could be ascertained, for two years, while the preparation was
approaching its highest point.

Such is the summary statement of a series of events and causes, all
of which have been separately detailed through the previous memoirs.
They have been here brought thus together, because it is only thus
that the character and conduct of lord Clare is to be fairly judged.
On him the whole weight of the popular resentment has been thrown.
A dangerous faction of misjudging men, disappointed in their despe-
rate scheme by the vigour and wisdom of his counsels, very naturally
entertained a strong animosity against him. It was vented, too, as
such passions ever are, in acrimonious invective. This derived its
material from two very obvious and ready sources ; the same which,
in similar circumstances, have ever furnished the missiles of party
abuse.

It .was alleged that a harsh and unconciliating policy was designedly
adopted ; and all the disastrous consequences of a civil strife were
imputed to the immediate will of the government. We do not think
there could have been any sincerity in these calumnious imputations;
but they were received by the people, and they have been repeated
from pen to pen, until the time for contradiction has nearly past; and
they are now very inconsiderately reasserted by persons who would,
perhaps, be quite incapable of any intentional injustice.

These imputations are distinguishable into three: — That the in-
surrection was encouraged with a view to facilitate the measure of
the Union; that the government, with this view, exercised great
cruelties ; and that they neglected those measures of concession

POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

which would have conciliated the people. These three charges are
all resolvable into that one already mentioned — the answer to which
would, of course, be sufficient, were we here engaged in merely
mooting the point with party writers. But it is to be observed, that
the facts stated are charges independent of any question as to motives.
If the government is liable to the charge of wrongs alleged, it little
matters to prove that they were not deliberately contrived to favour
the Union. Some few remarks will not, therefore, be here superfluous
on each of these points.

Any one who may have fairly read the statements hitherto made,
cannot fail to see that the Union was suggested, and the idea of its
necessity enforced, by a long succession of incidents, among which
the strongest were those very circumstances which have been pre-
tended to have been artifices for its promotion. It had become very
plain that no concessions could have the pretended effect of conci-
liating, and that (and a little knowledge of human nature should have
prevented such an error) the contrary must needs be, and ever was,
the effect produced. The fact had become, indeed, so evident that
Mr Grattan, 'and other observing men, were strongly influenced by
the consideration. It had become apparent that when all that had
been asked was given, a more petulant and refining spirit of exaction
began to show itself, to such an extent, that Charlemont, Grattan,
and the entire respectability of the party was separated, and Mr
Grattan offended the party by his moderating counsels. The reader
may recollect how strongly he expressed his fear that it would be
thought that no concessions could satisfy the popular party. Indeed,
it would be of much use to the public of every age, were it popularly
explained, that the leaders of popular demand (which may be, and has
been, at times, fortuitously right,) will act for the mere purpose of ex-
citing and governing a popular ferment about anything, and that all
they want is power and popularity ; to imbody popular spirit, to place
the government in difficulties, and to promote themselves and their
personal interests. The people are, necessarily, ignorant of the real
merits of the question; but will, of course, adopt and embrace, with
all their passions, whatever they are told by their leaders, whether
it be that they are not represented in parliament, or that they are
defrauded of their legitimate share of moonshine. They have no
political knowledge, and are wholly moveable at the will of the
leader who can best seize and turn to his purpose their natural
propensities. — This is, however, a digression.

A succession of incidents made it apparent that there must con-
tinue to be unceasing collision between the two kingdoms and be-
tween their parliaments. It was not merely the result of the re-
gency question, already stated; it was evident that the Irish parlia-
ment was liable to the external pressure of a " fierce democracy," and
that it was with difficulty, and by resources neither permanent nor de-
sirable, fortified against its irruptions. This democracy was half-revo-
lutionized, in a time when England was menaced by revolution, and
clouds of war collecting around her. Reform, then first assuming an
imposing shape, came mixed with the pretensions and principles of
republicanism, and menaced with destruction those institutions which

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 441

it affected to repair or correct. In the Irish parliament it was easy
for every one who could lay aside an inapplicable theory (that of the
British constitution), and look at actual workings, to see that it was
not wanting, and would have thrown that body entirely into the
hands of the very lowest leaders of the rabble. Even the popular
orators would have been set aside. But while the measure demanded
was thus unfit for Ireland, its concession would have carried with it
consequences injurious to the safety of the British empire. The
clamour for reform had commenced in England, where it was purely
the suggestion of a democratic opposition. Now it is quite evident
that if such a measure had been granted to Ireland, it could not, for
a day, be delayed in England, where, though its effects might have
been less and slower, they would have been essentially revolutionary.

The steps immediately leading to the Union were preceded by all
the concession that could be even thought of : — free trade, legis-
lative independence, independence of the law courts, and, lastly,
catholic emancipation. Coincidently with these concessions a fiercer
spirit of exaction grew up, republican principles began to spread,
and a demand, which it was known could not be granted (for the
reasons above stated), was dexterously put forward, to keep up the
ferment, which Mr Tone and his active friends feared would die away
from the effects of catholic emancipation. They neglected no season-
able restorative, and found themselves agreeably mistaken.

These are evidently not the steps of a design to irritate; they
plainly, and beyond all reasonable question, are the plain indications
of a desire to conciliate, carried to the very utmost limits of com-
pliance.

That these compliances were strenuously opposed in their progress
through the legislature, is a point we need not labour here — such
opposition being that of individuals, may be safely referred to the
grounds of opposition which they stated. We are only here concerned
with the cabinet, or rather with the actual allegations of certain popu-
lar historians.

The conclusions, to which the reasons hitherto stated lead, are, that
conciliation was carried at least as far as sound policy admitted, and this
without any ulterior intent; that all concession was wholly ineffective;
that it produced effects of an opposite tendency; that the demand at
which the government stopped was a step not to be taken ; that, so far
as the democratic leaders of the people were concerned, it was no more
than a pretext; that a conspiracy, having dangerous designs, with
other destructive influences, then menacing both kingdoms as well as
Europe, was perceptibly spreading by mysterious channels.

Such was the state of things in which the Union was seriously medi-
tated by the British government; and every single part of the combi-
nation had long precedence of any conceivable purpose. That insur-
rection-acts and arms-bills, should irritate conspirators, is certainly
to be admitted ; but when all who were not engaged in it, were
in a state of terrified suspense, and when the members of the
government were kept in perplexity and fear, it is surely somewhat
of supererogation to say, that they took precautionary measures of
the most urgent necessity, for the purpose of irritation. The sup-

POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

position is simply absurd. — One fact ought for ever to repress such
gratuitous misstatements : Mr Tone, who knew something1 of what
was preparing- and of what was designed, admits that the conduct
of the Irish administration was judicious and able. He stigmatizes
lord Clare as the adversary to republicanism; but he admits that
nothing less than the means he employed could have prevented it.
A phrase used by lord Castlereagh, in the examination of Dr
M'Nevin, has been laid hold of. It is liable, indeed, to much
question, but does not bear on the charge as yet examined ;
because it is accompanied by an admission on the part of M'Nevin,
to which it is directly to be referred, that the organization in which
the United Irishmen were engaged, preceded " the measures taken
to make it explode."

That measures for such a purpose should or should not be taken,
is a question wholly distinct. We do not mean to argue it; because
we cannot, without much inconvenience, complete the outline we have,
perhaps without enough reckoning the inconvenience, undertaken.
To rouse a people to rebellion for political ends is an unquestionable
crime, one that admits of no apology. — They who prefer the charge
should weigh it well. But it is wholly distinct from the question here
involved, and we are only concerned to state plainly the nature of
the case.

We have but to assume the precise conditions already stated as
the actual facts; viz., an organized conspiracy, connected (or even
supposed to be connected) with a design of meditated invasion, and
actuated by the purpose of effecting a revolution on the principles
then terrifying the world ; that this conspiracy was supposed to be
advancing with impenetrable secrecy to those objects, and becoming
every hour more dangerous. On such conditions a question arises as
to what the government could do. It may be asked — for these are
the questions actually involved — is the government to await the event,
without any precautions, because the only efficient precautions consist
in means which may have the effect of exciting a premature display?
Are such means for any reason unjustifiable, when, in reference to
such a question, it is recollected that the measures alleged to be taken
to draw the conspiracy from its concealment, are the same measures by
which it was defeated, and the kingdom saved from destruction?
The answer will be easy. — If the measures were, indeed, wrong
measures, and uncalled for by the urgency of the occasion, without
any perceptible end but to create popular irritation, the case would
be that pretended by M'Nevin. But the fact actually was, that
measures, most emergently required, against a conspiracy which only
waited to increase its strength and obtain aid from France, also
offered a chance of drawing them out of their concealment.

But several instances of the most dreadful cruelty are stated to
have occurred. We have not the means of contradicting these as-
sertions; but we unhesitatingly deny that such cases, if they are
truly alleged, have any connexion with the charge just examined. It
would appear to be trifling, were we to argue so frivolous a point.
Something must, nevertheless, be said; for the charge is, in itself, of
serious concern, and has been reiterated until it has acquired a force

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLAUE. 443

beyond its meaning, and been confounded in the popular mind with
the charges already answered! To see what its weight is, we shall
admit it in the fullest extent in which it has been alleged.

When concession, so far as it was in any way admissible, had failed
to satisfy the United Irishmen, when (to adopt their own statement,)
an impracticable measure, which would have amounted to a democra-
tic revolution, was rejected, they then, as they admit, entered into
communication with France, and organized a most extensive and dan-
gerous conspiracy — so great that their own advocates affirm, that no-
thing but the treachery of Reynolds saved the kingdom. The govern-
ment were in a state of terror and alarm, quite justifiable, according
to the allegations of the rebel chiefs themselves. In this state of
things there was but one sure course for any government, not abso-
lutely suicidal, to pursue. It was a course of necessarily severe and
unrelaxing self-defence, to the very utmost length such a course could
be applied. It was no case of criminal law for the slow and uncertain
arm of executive justice — they might as well have sent out a special
commission of judges to arrest the French fleet upon its way. It was
a rebellion ambushed for the moment of explosion, and the lives and
properties of the respectable loyal classes were on the verge of a
bloody extinction — so it was known to be, and so the leaders admit.
In such a state of peril all means are lawful-which may be allowed in
open insurrection, — for, in principle there is no difference. And the
duty of the government is to resort to open force against concealed
treachery: there was an armed foe in the realm. So far the case is
free from difficulty; and the manner alone remains. This will be
found, as it has ever been, to be dependent on the agents used. The
application of force can only be effected through the police and the
army of a country.

Now, at that time, the force in Ireland was, unfortunately, in both
respects, of the very worst character; weak in numbers, low in disci-
pline, and consequently inferior in their moral character — they were de-
tached on service under a sense of stringent emergency, and that service
in its nature detective: their passions may have been roused by the scowl
and sneer of one class of the people; they were fired by the complaints
and terrors of another. Human nature, always the same when the pas-
sions of common men are exasperated, might, under such circumstances,
produce greater cruelties than are alleged; and they who have made
the charges have uniformly omitted to notice the numerous and inces-
sant provocations. But with this we are here not concerned. It was
the misfortune of the peasantry to have rendered themselves strictly
amenable to extralegal proceedings; and the inquisitorial proceedings
most brutally used in a few instances by cruel officials, though deeply
to be deplored and condemned, did not amount to a wrong against the
people or the sufferers; they were an offence against humanity; but
the offence was confined to the individual who committed it. It had
the palliation of emergency and strong provocation — and the plea of
exaggeration. It was directed to a right purpose, and was coun-
terbalanced a hundred fold by similar offences which had no such
plea.

As we have already intimated, most of what we have thus summarily

444 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

thrown together, in order that its collective force might be the more
easily discerned by such of our readers as are not familiar with
the events of the time, is only to be fully proved by very large
details. The life of Theobald Wolfe Tone, or rather his confessions,
accompanied by the incautious commentary of his son, goes far,
indeed, to confirm all these statements. This work should be read
by any one who would understand this portion of our history.
The examination of the United Irishmen, in 1798, interpreted by col-
lateral circumstances, will also be found useful for the same purpose.
But of this testimony there is somewhat to be observed. The testi-
mony of these gentlemen was equivocal throughout. With respect to
facts, they were aware that they had nothing to communicate or conceal ;
but it was their express desire to strike a blow for their party; or, as
they (perhaps sincerely) called it, their country. Were there any
reason for doubting this, it is met by explanations afterwards given
by the most authoritative of them, Thomas Addis Emmet. According
to his account, they anticipated (or conceived that they anticipated,)
the motives of government for their examination to be the purpose of
" rendering unpopular and unsuspected, men in whom the United
Irishmen had been accustomed to place unbounded confidence;" they
came to the determination of baffling these objects ; and, as Mr Emmet
says, " We did not hesitate to devote ourselves, that we might make
terms for our country." These statements are of much importance.
As they had, in fact, no other object, it is quite plain that they are
simply to be considered as antagonists who enter upon the discussion
of a contested political creed. They had, by the bargain they had
made, (one proposed on their own part,) secured their lives; for once
their opinions were admitted to be the price of safety, it was plain
that they could not be hanged for mistakes. They stood before the
committees, therefore, free from all apprehension, and in the spirit
of opposition — a fact, indeed, glaring enough in the report which they
have themselves given, and the comments which accompany it. The
consequence which we mean to infer from this is, that their statements
have no weight whatever, except so far as they conclude against them-
selves. Their opinions but involve the very questions at issue; but
their admissions are ex adverso, and have a strong weight. With
these precautionary remarks, we would strongly recommend these
examinations to the attentive perusal of every one who desires full in-
formation on the subject. Three main points are strongly stated in
them: that their object was parliamentary reform; that they had not
turned their minds to revolution, until they despaired of this object,
and that there would have been no insurrection but for certain cruel-
ties on the part of the government. Now, of these affirmations, two
are to be looked on as mere advocacy, (or perhaps a very common
sort of error,) being partially true in words, but wholly false in their
intent in reality. They were quite aware that the armed organiza-
tion had been in preparation long antecedent to these incidents and
opinions. This they indeed admit; they were also aware that most of
their leaders and promoters were, from the beginning, men who pro-
pagated republican principles. They were, indeed, quite sincere in
looking for reform, and in their resenting its denial, for they well knew

PERIOD.] JOHN F1TZGIBBON, EARL OF CLA.RE.

it was no more than the shortest and securest road to the object they
had at heart. The reformed House of Commons they knew would be
but a fac simile of the national convention, and would run through all
its crazed lapse of degradations. On this point they were true and
hollow. But they admitted enough to justify the stringent measures of
government. We shall here select a few extracts, premising that we
extract from their own report.

Doctor M'Nevin having stated that certain reforms would have
satisfied the people, lord Castlereagh observed, " They would have
been satisfied to effect a revolution through a reform!" M'Nevin, " Jf
a change of system be in one way or other inevitable, of which, gen-
tlemen, I have no doubt, and which you cannot yourselves but think
highly probable, who can be so much interested in its happening
peaceably as you are," &c. Speaker, " Don't you think that the people
would abolish the church establishment and tithes?" M'Nevin, " I
have no idea of a reformed parliament that would not act according
to the interests and known wishes of the people," &c. [thus affirming the
speaker's supposition.] J. C. Beresford, " Will you tell me, Sir,
what you understand by a free House of Commons?" Doctor M'Nevin,
" One which should be annually and freely returned by the people," &c.
We ought to observe that there may be points of opinion, and even
of argument contained in the answers of these persons, just enough;
but that we are simply extracting to convey information on certain
specific points. Through Doctor M'Nevin's statements, there runs
an implied, but obviously fallacious, distinction between the armed
organization of the people, and any design of insurrection; and on
the force of this it is that he is enabled to maintain his main ground,
that they did not think of insurrection till they were provoked by
government. It was the apology of the highwayman, I did not in-
tend to shoot until the purse was refused and the hand lifted. He
was asked by the Speaker, " Would not the organization have gone
on, and the union become stronger, but that the insurrection was
brought on too soon?" Doctor M'Nevin, "The organization would
have proceeded, and the union would have derived that strength which
arises from order," &c. Mr Emmet's examination offers some curious
answers : he thus states an important principle which he conceived
would govern the course of the proposed revolution in whatever way
it should be brought to pass; and we have no doubt of the pro-
cess. He speaks particularly with reference to the church establish-
ment, (which is not involved in this discussion.) Emmet, " I can't
pay so bad a compliment to the reasons which have convinced myself,
as not to suppose they will convince others. As the human mind grows
philosophic, it will, I think, wish for the destruction of all religious es-
tablishments ; and therefore in proportion as the catholic mind becomes
philosophic, it will, of course, entertain the same wishes; but I consider
that as the result of its philosophy and not of its religion." A curious
illustration of the thorough infatuation of popular excitements — a pro-
position which we have often stated in these memoirs — here, according
to Mr Emmet, (who, we suspect, does no injustice to his accomplices,)
we have the head of the atheist governing the hands and hearts of the
superstitious multitude, for common destruction of all they revered.

446 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

After stating that a revolution must take place with or without an
organization, Mr Emmet dexterously enough states that he thought
organization the best means of moderating the fury of the revolution.
He is then questioned as to the effective force of the organization,
•which he states at a gross total of half a million, or about six hundred
thousand fighting men " in the union." He also states, that two modes
of accomplishing the objects next their hearts presented themselves to
their view; one was a reform [annual parliaments and universal suf-
frage] by peaceable means; the other a revolution and a republic,"
&c. Now, here let it be observed, that it is distinctly stated, that
reform was looked to as the means of revolution — the actual truth ;•—
but in direct contradiction to the statement already quoted, which
asserts the converse of this proposition. Such are, indeed, the prevari-
cations of falsehood, from which even the practice of deception could not
guard these most fraudulent and spurious witnesses. All this, and much
to the same effect, gave no information, as Mr Emmet himself states,
to the government; but we trust it may convey much to the reader.
Our comment has been already made as to what Emmet, M'Nevin,
&c., thought, or pretended to think, right or safe. Though they may
have imagined that their visionary ideas of reform might justify a
revolution by force — or that an armed organization was a most inno-
cuous toy, provided all wishes of the people should be conceded — every
man of common sense will see, that their fallacies, whether they were
the quibbles of advocacy, or the follies of perverted reason, could not
alter the reality of the desperate position of risk and emergency in
which they show the country to have been placed. All reflecting
persons who can estimate the tendencies of human nature, must be
convinced, that any of the courses they proposed, or pretended to pro-
pose, must have terminated in one result. Talking of the wishes of
the people, there is one admission, too instructive to be omitted, which
may for the present conclude these quotations : — " Pray," asked lord
Clare, " do you think that catholic emancipation and parliamentary
reform are any object with the common people ? Emmet, " As to
catholic emancipation, I don't think it matters a feather, or that the
poor think of it. As to parliamentary reform, I don't think the com-
mon people ever thought of it, until it was inculcated to them that a
reform would cause a removal of those grievances which they actually
do feel," &c. Now this is a comment of universal application. It
states directly the same most important truth which in the last previ-
ous paragraph, we endeavoured to illustrate from the statements of
the same gentleman: the wishes of the people are the suggestions of
a few leaders ; and consequently to govern the people according to
their wishes — so strongly inculcated by these and such other men —
means no more than this, that it is the duty of those to whom the
government of a country is committed to be governed by the intima-
tions and requisitions of the demagogue ; — the state policy of a circle
of cracked republicans, who were ready to fraternize with the blood-
thirsty visionaries, the poissardes and the sans culottes of Paris, ought
to have been reverently acceded to by men such as lord Clare.

Some further particulars personally respecting these men we reserve
for a separate memoir. It will here suffice to say, that the ex-

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EAKL OF CLARE. 447

animation from which we have made our extracts, is a remarkable
instance of the clemency of the very government against which they
betrayed so vindictive a spirit. It was resorted to, to save their lives.
They showed the utmost ingratitude. They showed, also, a most vehe-
ment and undue resentment when the state of foreign affairs, and a sense
of the character they displayed on their examination, made some delay
necessary in their liberation. They amply justified this delay: when
they were set free, their very first step was to enter into negotiations
with France. We shall treat these facts further on with the fulness
they deserve.

We can truly assure our candid readers, that it has been with no
feeling of pleasure that we have now, through the last few memoirs,
adopted the tedious analysis into which we have entered. But if the
fair and just motive is not apparent, our labour has been vain indeed.
If the illustrious and able man, whose stern resolution and eminent
ability steered his country through the dreadful trials of that time,
were again to be endowed with the cognisance of present opinions; he
might well be surprised that time, which has so often been said to set
right the errors of popular opinion, has yet left his character, like a
suit in chancery, to be painfully argued in half a century from his own
time. He would have to be apprized, that, unhappily, the mind of
this country has, with its ancient fidelity to its errors, been tied fast
to the same little wheel of prejudices, of which the disorderly move-
ments once gave him so much to do. The same parties, agitated by
the same passions, views, and desires, still continue to battle with
similar opinions ; and he is now as much the object of abusive
declamation as of old.

He had been created earl of Clare, in 1795: in 1799, his signal
merits were rewarded by the peerage of the United Kingdom, to which
he was raised by the title of lord Fitzgibbon of Sudbury.

In the British parliament his efforts were not destined to be many,
or of long duration. He would have appeared in some respects to
advantage, and in others to disadvantage. His close and solid style
of reasoning, was more adapted to the cultivated ear of the British
peerage than that of others of his countrymen. But the topics with
which he would have had to deal were replete with difficulty. The
most enlightened Englishman knew little, indeed, of Ireland; the
moral and intellectual condition of the mass of its population; or of
the essential principles on which alone its government had been able
to stand; or the desperate emergencies, for which the constitutional
remedies were prompt exertions of the executive power. They thought
of England when Ireland was spoken of, and looked on every question
in which it was concerned, with the jealousy which has helped to guard
the British constitution. The state of Ireland, as we have described
it, was hard to believe; for it was hard to conceive. Hence those
who impugned the policy of the Irish government had an audience
prepossessed in their favour. The declamations of Mr Fox, and the
diffusion of popular sentiments, from the same source as those of the
United Irishmen, had instilled certain maxims and propositions, the
same which now may be called liberalism; and, as always must hap-
pen when a strong sentiment occupies the public mind, it more or less

448 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlfTH

influences and modifies the views of every party. Lord Clare would
thus have had to address an uninformed assembly, in opposition
to strong misstatements which derived a spurious power from mis-
apprehension. Yet when we read the various misstatemeuts and ill-
conceived motions in the British parliament, by which the conduct of
the earl of Clare and the Irish administration were so palpably misre-
presented, we cannot help lamenting that the reply was not heard in
the same house and recorded in the same pages.

i The good and benevolent earl of Moira, animated by a spirit of
philanthropic liberality, to which the name of liberalism would not be
quite inappropriate, had, at different times, brought forward state-
ments replete with strong pictures of the sufferings and calamities of
Ireland. He was heated by a warm humanity, and enlightened by a
popular spirit. He was a good and a public-spirited nobleman; but
though virtue may supply the better part of wisdom, it is not all-
sufficient in questions that are entangled with a multitude of pre-
judices and strong feelings. His aims were pure, but he was
incapable of looking below the surface, or taking into account any-
thing more than met his outward senses. In a word, the representa-
tions he made omitted every essential fact, and could have little effect
in the Irish parliament. He was ably replied to by lord Grenville
and by the marquis of Downshire. The charges which were made
by his lordship, and after him, by other peers, are the same which
we have already discussed at length, and shall not enter upon further
here. They were immediately repeated in the Irish house of lords,
by the same nobleman, and met, from the chancellor, a prompt and
masterly refutation. — This occurred on February 19, 1798. From
this speech we shall offer a few extracts, as specimens of a better
style of eloquence than is generally supposed to have existed in our
parliament.

Speaking of the system of the United Irishmen, and the manner in
which they had spread and concealed their principles, his lordship said,
" The resources of the union are the seduction of the lower orders of
the people, under the specious pretext of freedom and equality, and
every artifice, which cunning and profligacy can suggest, has been
practised to detach them from the established government and con-
stitution. The press has been used, with singular success, as an
engine of rebellion; sedition and treason have been circulated with
unceasing industry, in newspapers, and pamphlets, and handbills,
and speeches, and republican songs, and political manifestoes. Kob-
bery, assassinations, and massacre are the efficient powers of the
union, and are executed with prompt and unerring vigour, by the
order of every member of the executive, in their several departments.
The communication of their orders is so managed as to render de-
tection almost impossible. Each society has its secretary, from the
general executive down to the lower subordinate clubs, the members
of which are generally used as the agents of the union in all acts of
outrage; and every order is communicated by the secretary of the
superior committee, to the secretary of that committee or society
which is next in immediate subordination to it. No subordinate
knows, of whom its next superior is composed; the accredited secre-

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 449

tary vouches the order; from him it is received implicitly, and is
communicated in like manner, till it reaches every member of the
union to whom it is addressed. The order is, generally, verbal ; but if
it be reduced to writing, the moment the person who is to receive and
communicate it is fully instructed, the paper is destroyed. Here,
then, is a complete revolutionary government organized against the
laws and established constitution; and let me ask the noble lord
whether such a combination is to be met or counteracted, much less
dissolved, by the slow and technical forms of a regular government;
an invisible power of infinite subtlety and extent, which has no fixed
or permanent station ; which acts by the ungoverned fury of a despe-
rate and savage race, and scatters universal desolation and dismay
at its sovereign will and pleasure. * * When every gentle-

man, who had courage to remain in his country, was marked for assas-
sination, and had no protection under his own roof but from a mili-
tary guard; when a plan was actually formed, and nearly ripe for
execution, to disarm and cut off the soldiery thus dispersed in small
bodies for the protection of individuals; when a fierce and savage
foreign enemy hung upon the Irish coast, what alternative remained
for the executive government, but to surrender at discretion to a
horde of traitorous barbarians, or to use the force intrusted to it for
self-defence and self-preservation ; and what would have been the
folly and debility of the government which could have hesitated to
exert itself with vigour and decision at such a crisis ? Lord Camden
did not hesitate; but, as became him, issued an order on the 3d of
March, to disarm the rebels in the northern districts; and if he had
not issued the order, I do not scruple to say that he would have
betrayed his trust."

Hitherto, since entering upon this portion of our history, it has
been the main object of our statements to disembarrass it from certain
fallacies with which it has been entangled, to an extent, that has cor-
rupted the very language of one great class of political writers ; and
imposed on the other, to a great degree, the necessity of false ad-
missions, most pernicious in their effect. The result of our most
careful and conscientious attention to statements, which, with very
little exception, we have drawn from the most democratic writers,
has been now summarily presented in this memoir. These consi-
derations have mainly regarded the origin of certain associations, and
the respective principles and motives of the parties involved on either
side. This object has much restricted our details of the events, to
which we have referred, simply, as the grounds of an argument.

We shall now avail ourselves of this memoir to offer a brief narra-
tive of the memorable events of the rebellion of 1798.

While the leaders of the United Irishmen were organizing a re-
volution, which, owing to the wisdom and vigour of the subject of
this memoir, and the mercy of God's providence, they were not per-
mitted to effect; they actually promoted an insurrection, not less
bloody, though, happily, more brief, than that of 1641. The United
Irishmen continued, from their institution, to increase in numbers and
improve in discipline ; but it was not till 1 796, that the directory began
to see prospects, from which encouragement could be drawn for any

VOL. v. 2 F

450 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

immediate or decided course of proceeding. Until then, it was not
thought safe to disclose their actual intentions to the lower ranks of
the union, who were sufficiently kept in the necessary state of irri-
tation, by strong representations of their grievances, and by vague
promises of relief. But at last the hope of effectual aid by means
of a French invasion, gave the desired occasion for more open and
more active steps. Of the negotiations consequently set on foot
with the French Directory, we have given some account in the pre-
vious memoirs. The understanding, that there was to be an imme-
diate rising, was now universally propagated among the peasantry;
and the project of separation from England spread, in conjunction
with every other political doctrine by means of which they had been
hitherto agitated. These may be generally enumerated : They were to
be relieved from hearth-money, tithes, cess, and their rents were to be
lowered. A general hurry of preparation arose, and the first object
was to obtain arms. In the county of Louth considerable bodies of
men began to assemble in the night: the example spread into Meath,
Cavan, and Monaghan. They began with plundering private houses
of arms, and ended by the plunder of everything. In all their move-
ments, there were evident indications of the agency of persons of a
higher order. Large sums of money were collected from the pea-
santry, by all the usual and well-known expedients. In the north of
Ireland all these proceedings had been long prepared, and were in a
more advanced state. In that quarter, the animosity of the people
had been worked by opposition to a higher state of excitement — for
such is the natural effect of opposition ; the immediate presence of an
opposite party of men, animated by a strong spirit of loyalty, and deter-
mined on protecting themselves and their homes from robbery and
destruction, awakened a fearful conflict of strong passions and fierce
exasperations on either side. A religious turn was communicated to
resentment, fierce enough already. As the insurgents, being of the
lower rank, were mostly of the church of Rome, and the loyalists mainly
of the church of England, it is quite easy to see the progress by
which this paramount and general distinction would quickly absorb all
other considerations. This happened more especially among the united
men ; and thus the rebellion received its most fearful aggravation — the
character of a religious war; — most fatal — because, to the extreme
ignorance of the peasant, it is easily made the justification of every
crime.

The French uniform was adopted among the upper ranks of the
union. In Dublin a regiment was organized, and called the First
National Battalion. Their uniform was green, turned up with white;
white waistcoat, and striped trowsers, and gilt buttons with the im-
pression of a harp, surmounted with a cap of liberty upon a pike.
Generally, great quantities of arms, ammunition, and several pieces of
ordnance, were in their possession.

In the month of April, 1797, an assembly of their committees was
surprised in Belfast, and their papers seized, by colonel Barber.
These papers contained the fullest disclosures of their forces, arms,
and means. They stated a total of 72,206 men. In one of them it
was declared that " our friends are soon expected in Bantry.'' This

JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 451

declaration is followed by the advice, to distress the government bj
refusing bank notes and rejecting the use of exciseable commodities.

The government was not remiss. It began by the trial of menaces
and promises of amnesty — neither of which produced the least effect.
A general insurrection was planned and decided upon. A partial
rising took place in the county of Down ; but the army was promptly
put in motion, and the rebels, iinding no support, dispersed. This in-
cident operated as a transient check ; numbers took the benefit of the
proclamation of pardon, and vast quantities of arms were seized in
that province.

In consequence there followed an interval of quiet, and hopes began
to arise that the danger was blown over. In Munster and Conaught
strong professions of loyalty were made, and many societies ceased to
meet.

But the reader who has pursued the statements of these memoirs,
is aware how illusory such expectations must have been. The govern-
ment, while they saw the whole extent of the meditated insurrection,
had not been able, with all their efforts, to penetrate the fold within
which the main-spring lay. O'Conor, and Emmet, and M'Nevin,
with their accomplices, men of high energy, courage, and talent,
held the cords of popular insubordination with a firm grasp, and
found, or could find, no difficulty in restoring their influence and re-
pairing the web of popular infatuation.

Among the means to which these gentlemen resorted for this last
mentioned purpose, there was one especially to be noticed and stigma-
tized, not only for its atrocity, but as causing most of the enormities
afterwards perpetrated by the deluded populace. They fabricated and
circulated tests which they pretended were taken to exterminate the
papists; and raised reports that large bodies of protestants were on
their way te execute this diabolical design. They also had recourse
to very active attempts to seduce the soldiery, for which purpose papers
of seditious purport were printed and distributed among them.

In the mean time those negotiations with the French Directory,
already described, were carried on, and increasing expectations of an
invasion added to the excitement. The failure of the Bantry Bay ex-
pedition, left it still an earnest of sincerity; and another and
more effective effort was looked for with anxious impatience. A pre-
mature rising was feared by the Irish directory and fresh agents were
despatched to France.

At the same time, a difference of opinion arose between the Northern
leaders and those of Leinster. The former pressed an immediate
rising; the latter were for awaiting the arrival of the French. The
Northerns proposed to seize the castle of Dublin, and to trust to the
rabble for assistance; but some precautions, adopted in the Dublin
garrison, discouraged this design.

The year 1798 brought with it a fiercer determination, more advanced
and more energetic preparations. The whole details of a general rising
were now framed, and the orders distributed through the kingdom to
generals, adjutants, colonels, &c., &c. The storm was preceded by
suitable indications; nightly assassinations and housebreakings in-
creased so as to cause general terror, and in many districts the peace-

452 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTU

ful inhabitants, and those who were known for their loyalty, were in
great numbers compelled to seek refuge in the garrisoned towns.
These depredations daily became more imposing ; the town of Cahir
was attacked in open day by 800 men, most of them on horseback,
and every house robbed of its arms.

Providentially, in the midst of these alarms, when no one could yet
measure or anticipate the blow thus menaced, a great discovery, to be
more fully detailed in a subsequent memoir, took place. The leaders
were arrested on the 12th of March, at the house of Oliver Bond, in
Bridge Street. Their papers disclosed the whole plan, according to
which Dublin, the camp at Laughlinstown, and the fortifications near
Chapelizod were to have been surprised simultaneously by the concur-
rent attacks of the rebel force of Dublin, Wicklow, and Kildare. The
apprehension of lord Edward Fitzgerald, and others followed. The
most prompt and energetic arrangements were made by the govern-
ment to defeat these efforts, and so far they were completely
frustrated.

But a motion so extensive and powerful as we have hitherto de-
scribed, could not be suddenly checked by the defeat of a plan, or by the
seisure of leaders who were not even generally known to those whose
movements they had hitherto controlled as from a secret centre. The
propagated impulse, little connected with plan, rolled on. Among the
signals previously concerted, the stoppage of the mail coaches was to
give assurance to the Directory that their orders were carried into
effect throughout the country. The orders were given out for a rising
on the 23d of May, by a committee which had met immediately after
the arrest of lord Edward Fitzgerald.

On the night of that day, the northern mail was stopped at Santry,
by a line of cars drawn across the road. It was surrounded by armed
men, who spoke in very civil terms, and, evidently to prevent resistance,
assured the passengers that their object was to preserve the mails from
being seized by a body of rebels which was waiting their approach
further on. Terror is easily induced to admit of such excuses, the
coachman, guard, and passengers left the coach in their hands, per-
suading themselves that all was right; in a few minutes they saw the
coach burning. A thousand men were assembled in a field close
by. The passengers were allowed to pass in safety, and even some of
the letters were returned to the post office. The same event happened
to the mail between Lucan and Leixlip.

On the next day, an encounter took place at a place called Saggard,
near Tallaght, between a considerable force of the rebels well armed
and mounted, and the yeomanry corps of the place — the yeomanry
were compelled to give way. Lord Roden at the head of a party of
the 5th dragoons, very quickly arriving, a conflict took place, in which
the rebels were defeated; three only were killed, but thirty prisoners
were taken, with a large quantity of pikes.

On the 25th an attack was made on the town of Naas, by about a
thousand rebels — they poured in on every direction, having seized on
all the approaches to the town. They were stoutly met by the
garrison under lord Gosford, and major Wardle, and after a very
sharp conflict, which lasted nearly an hour, they were put to flight on

PKRIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 453

every side — the cavalry took advantage of their confusion, and charging
killed a great many. In all there were 130 slain and a great quantity
of arms taken; and many more shortly after found in pits in the
neighbourhood.

Several other smart encounters occurred in different places on the
same day. Near and in Stratford-on-Slaney a rebel party of 500, on
their way to Baltinglass were, as it would seem by accident, attacked
in front and rear by two different corps of military — a party of 20
dragoons was attacking them in front, when captain Sannford came up
with part of his company. The rebels were quickly scattered, leaving
200 slain ; many also among the fugitives were wounded.

A military party in the town of Prosperous, met with a different
fate; their barrack was surprised and set on fire — and being locked
up, the whole detachment was destroyed. The rebels, in their triumph,
slaughtered several of the citizens, among whom was Mr Stanner the
proprietor of the chief part of the town.

It would now serve no purpose to state the particulars of the numer-
ous lesser engagements, which occurred nearly at the same time. At
Clare — -between Barnetstown and Kildare — near Lucan — near Lusk —
at Ballymore — there were encounters, in all of which but one, the
rebels, after more or less resistance were well beaten. The affair near
Barnetstown was the surprise of a small party of fencibles on the
march — they escaped, but their baggage was taken.

A severe conflict took place near Kilcullen on the 24th. A strong
party of the rebels had assembled on the north bank of the river
Liffey, and an account came to lieutenant-general Dundas, that they
were advancing on the town of Kilcullen. The general marched to
attack them. The following is his account of the fight: — "They
occupied the hills on the left of the road leading to Dublin, the road
itself, and the field highly enclosed on the right. The attack began
between three and four, and was made with great gallantry ; the infantry
forcing the enemy on the road, and driving them from the hills to the
left; the cavalry with equal success cutting off their retreat. The
affair ended soon after four; the slaughter was considerable for such
an action; 130 lay dead, no prisoners. His majesty's troops did not
suffer in either killed or wounded. The rebels left great quantities
of arms behind them, and fled in all directions."

In some places where the rebel parties, which moved in all directions,
were uninterrupted by the military, they committed many outrages.
On the 25th of May, another combat of considerable importance
occurred near Hacketstown. Here, between three and four thousand
rebels were defeated by a small corps of soldiery and yeomanry, and
500 slain. And on the same day a large body of rebels suffered a
severe defeat near Dunlavin, leaving 300 on the field.

The reader may have observed that all these affairs, hitherto men-
tioned, occurred within two days, the 24th and 25th of May.

On the 26th the battle of Tara took place. As this battle has been
considered of some importance, we shall go a little more fully into its
details.

The atrocities committed in the neighbourhood between Dunboyne
and Dunshaughlin for some days previous to the 26th, had excited the

454 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTM

utmost sensation of terror and alarm among the inhabitants, and the
several small parties of the yeomanry and soldiers on garrison duty in
the nearest towns were earnestly applied to. On the 24th, captain
Preston of the Navan cavalry, and Mr Barry lieutenant of the same,
applied to captain Molloy who commanded at Kells, to join them;
and captain Preston having learned that some companies of a fenci-
ble regiment were in Navan on the evening of the 25th, on their
march to Dublin, went to meet them there, to persuade the officer in
command to join them in attacking the rebels who were in great force
that day at Dunshaughlin. The officer of the fencibles complied. But
on the next morning it was found that the rebels had withdrawn; and
as they did not know whither, the officer of fencibles came to the
determination to proceed upon his way to Dublin. The yeomanry, too,
were bent on returning to their houses. If these steps had been per-
mitted, the consequences might have been highly disastrous, as the re-
bels were rapidly concentrating from all quarters, while there was no
adequate preparation to resist them. Captain Preston, on this emer-
gency, acted with praiseworthy decision and promptitude. We shall
extract the account of his conduct from Sir Richard Musgrave, as it can-
not with justice be abridged. " Captain Preston, now lord Tara, then
followed the Reay fencibles, who had proceeded two miles on their
march, and informed the commanding officer that he would engage
to find out the rebels in two hours, if he would consent to stay; but
having refused to comply, he informed him that he would proceed to
Dublin, and obtain an order from the lord lieutenant for him to return
before he could proceed half-way upon his march ; on which he con-
sented to return, and gave him two hundred men and one battalion gun."

With this small corps and the yeomanry commanded by lord Fingal
and himself, he now set out in quest of the rebels, and found them on
the hill of Tara. Here his small force appeared not very formidable
to the multitude who looked down upon them from the steep
side and summit of the hill, exulting, as the Irish peasantry can exult,
in the consciousness of courage and the illusory sense of strength
which numbers commonly give. They had swept together the plunder
of the surrounding country, and were engaged in preparing their meal;
white flags were fluttering in the wind over their heads ; and they
looked defiance down upon the 400 men who stood ready to attack
them below. When the soldiers caught their attention, they " put
three hats on the top of pikes, sent forth some dreadful yells,
and at the same time began to jump," &c. They quickly began to
rush down the hill, firing irregularly as they came on.

They were awaited in grim silence by the little army below, who
reserved their fire until the yelling multitude came within 50 paces,
when they delivered their volley with cool precision. An attempt
was made to surround the military. To prevent this, lord Fingal was
ordered to the right, and another party of cavalry to the left. The
rebels returned three times with great impetuosity to the charge, and
even penetrated so far, as in the last to seize the gun ; but before they
had time to surround it, the artillery officer applied the match— the
discharge levelled a dozen of the assailants, and caused the rest to
take to their heels.

PEUIOD.] JOHN FITZCJIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 455

The firmness of the Reay fencibles, who kept their line unbroken
against the fiercest onsets, and fired with all the cool precision of a
field day, soon disconcerted an enemy of which the main efficiency
lay in the desperate and overwhelming impulse of their attack. They
gave way, and as usual fled in the utmost disorder, casting away their
arms and ammunition. The conquerors took 300 horses, a large
quantity of provisions, arms, baggage — and recovered eight of the
Reay fencibles, who, having been a few days before taken by the rebels,
were employed to drill them. There were about ten of the fencibles
killed, and about ten or twelve wounded.

A remarkable fact, and perhaps illustrative of the imperfect prepar-
ations which had been made for this period of emergency, is to be
related. So ill provided were the troops with ammunition, that
there was not left a single cartridge after the fight. And consequently
there is some reason to doubt what might be the event if the rebels
had stood their ground, and even once more repeated their assault.
Many prisoners were taken, from whom it was learned that they had
intended to plunder Navan in the evening of that day, and then Kells,
by which they would have obtained a good deal of ammunition, which
lay there slightly guarded; and that, by a previous arrangement,
they were afterwards to be joined by large bodies of men from all the
surrounding counties.

Many of the fugitives took refuge in the bogs of Meath and Kil-
dare, from which they extended their depredations on every side,
plundering, burning, and killing, without discrimination. It was also
mentioned that a general massacre of all who had not joined the rebels,
was part of their plan, and that the assassination of the earl of Fingal,
whose courage and activity had annoyed them, was to be the signal
for this part of their design.

On the 24th, a proclamation was issued to the army, and a notice
from the lord mayor and corporation, by which the insurrection act
was put in force in the " county of the city of Dublin." By this the
inhabitants were required to keep within their dwellings, from sunset
to sunrise.

A very strong address to the peasantry, from the Roman Catholic
aristocracy, the bishops, the president, professors and students of
Maynooth was printed and circulated. We shall here extract so
much as may clearly show its purport. It was addressed " To such of
the deluded people, now in rebellion against his majesty's government
in this kingdom, as profess the Roman Catholic religion."

After stating it to be their duty to remonstrate, they say, " They
apprehend with equal horror and concern, that such deluded men, in
addition to the crime committed against the allegiance which they
owe to his majesty, have, in some instances, attempted to give to their
designs a colour of zeal for the religion -which they profess. The
undersigned profess, equally with them, the Roman catholic religion ;
some of them are bishops of that persuasion; others are heads of the
leading families who profess that religion ; and others are men of the
same persuasion, who, by an honourable industry, have, under the
constitution now sought to be subverted, raised themselves to a situa-
tion which affords them, in the most extensive sense, all the comforts

456 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

of life." The address then proceeds, in strong terms, to give the
proper advice which the occasion required, and having well pointed
out the consequences of rebellion, proceeds to suggest, that it would
also " throw on the religion of which they [the rebels] profess to be
advocates, the most indelible stain." It then submits for their con-
sideration, whether their bishops and ancient aristocracy were not
more likely to consider the true honour and interests of their reli-
gion, than " a set of desperate and profligate men," who had availed
themselves of their ignorance to work them to their own bad ends.
It adds, " at all events, the undersigned feel themselves bound to
rescue their names, and, as far as in them lies, the religion they pro-
fess, from the ignominy which each would incur, from an appearance
of acquiescence in such criminal and irreligious conduct," &c., &c.
This address, eminently adapted to convey a sane impression, if such
were possible, was signed by the earl of Fingal, most of the Roman
catholic nobility and gentry, and thirty-two bishops, or dignified eccle-
siastics, of the same persuasion. It was mentioned that the want of
time prevented any more signatures.

We now proceed to relate the further progress of these calamitous
events, and to state the disturbances in the county of Wexford.

A fierce attack having been made on the house of Mr Buckey of
Rockspring, it was burned to the ground. An express being sent to
lord Mountnorris, he came at the head of his yeomen, with a detach-
ment from a neighbouring corps of yeomanry. In the haste, a small
advanced guard advanced unfortunately too far, and meeting the
rebels, attacked them. Two gentlemen, lieutenant Buckey and Mr
Donovan, were killed, and their companions forced to retire. Before
the main party could come up, the rebels vented their fury on the
bodies of the two gentlemen, which they mangled in a most brutal
and savage manner. It was nearly an hour before the main party
came up, when the rebels were vigorously charged, leaving about forty
dead.

But while the country was defended by small detachments of militia,
the rebels were collecting from every quarter, and, being long pre-
pared, were enabled to bring to bear such resources as they possessed,
with more celerity than the resources of the government could be
rendered effectual ; and, consequently, some reverses were to be
necessarily experienced, before affairs could receive a decided turn.
From the 24th to the end of the month of May, there continued to
come in accounts from every part of the kingdom, of smart encounters,
of which the event was various; though generally in favour of the
king's forces, which were mostly engaged against odds of ten to one,
in point of numbers. In some few cases, however, errors were com-
mitted, from which the results were unfortunate; though, happily, on
a scale too small to affect the event of the struggle. One of these
disasters took place in the county of Wexford, where the rebels were
assembled in great force, and, as we are led to infer from the different
accounts, better armed and disciplined than in most other quarters.
An account came into Wexford on the 27th, that they were posted
near the hill of Oulard, and that they were burning the houses of the
protestants all around their position. Lieutenant-colonel Foote, with

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 457

major Lombard and other officers, marched to attack them with one
hundred of the North Cork militia. The result was most unfortunate ;
they were completely surrounded and cut to pieces: the colonel and
two privates alone escaped to tell the disastrous story. The rebels
were, on this occasion, full forty to one ; and it is also probable that the
militia were fatigued after a march of ten miles. Colonel Foote had
given his opinion against an attack, but the major urged it so strenu-
ously that he gave way. The first step taken was an attempt to irritate
the rebels, in order to draw them down from their position ; but this
was unsuccessful. The major then urged an assault upon the hill,
insisting upon the assumption that they would fly at the approach of
the soldiers. To make the matter worse, a movement was commanded
for the purpose of preventing their retreat; and great numbers of
the rebels, who were actually turning from the encounter, immediately
returned when they saw a party of yeomanry horse sent round the hill
to intercept them. The North Cork men charged up the hill; the
I'ebels poured down to meet them ; but great numbers also lay down
in the ditches, to let them pass. And they had but time to fire two
volleys, when they were hemmed in on every side, so suddenly, and so
closely, that all use of their arms was out of the question. The rebel
accounts of this affair are not quite reconcilable with probability.
One fact very clearly proves that it was no trial of arms — the rebels
had but five killed and two wounded. Comparing this with the
generality of such encounters, it is plain the militia made no
efficient resistance. The rebels thus obtained the arms and fifty-
seven rounds of ball cartridge from each soldier ; and what was much
more, a strong accession of confidence in themselves. Great alarm
and excitement was produced in Wexford, and the town was in a
ferment of terror and fury. On this occasion the rebels had been
commanded by a priest named Murphy, whose name still occupies a
distinguished place in the recollections of that time. It was one of
the features of that rebellion, that the leaders were, in many instances,
reluctantly compelled to the part they acted, — and none were so much
exposed to this constraint as the priests. Murphy was, we have reason
to believe, an ignorant fanatic ; but it would be very unjust not to
recollect, that several of his brethren who were reduced to the
same afflicting necessity, exerted themselves, on every occasion, to
repress the hostilities of their followers, and were often, at some
risk to themselves, the means of saving the lives of those who fell
into their hands.

The fury of the rebels in the county of Wexford, as in some other
localities, was additionally excited by numerous instances of a resis-
tance as irregular and very much marked by the same conduct as
their own. The farmers, in many places, moved not only by alarm,
but by a very natural feeling of resentment, entered into armed
associations, and had recourse to the dangerous and impolitic ex-
pedient of retaliation. With fear and anger, suspicion rose; and
every hamlet was disorganized by these wretched passions and the
courses they engender.

Encouraged by the slaughter at Oulart mountain, the rebels in
increased numbers proceeded to attack Enniscorthy. We have not

458 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

been enabled to reconcile completely the accounts of this affair. We
shall, however, adopt from all, such details as carry the appearance of
truth. At Camolin, the rebels added considerably to their fire-arms,
by seizing a large supply sent by lord Mountnorris for the use of his
tenantry. Having thus about 800 musquets, they advanced to the
number of YOOO men, until they came in sight of Enniscorthy, about
mid-day.

In Enniscorthy there was a mixed force of three hundred men, com-
posed of yeomanry and volunteers, consisting of the protestant inhabi-
tants. But there existed unfortunately a strong party of disaffected
inhabitants, whose proceedings were more fatal than the power of the
enemy.

The rebels began by setting fire to some houses with the design to
draw the garrison out. On consulting, the captains of the several
corps agreed that it was impossible with their small force to defend
the numerous avenues to the town ; and captains Pounden and Cor-
nock, led their men out to meet the approach of the rebels. When
they approached within 400 yards, the rebels halted, and sent out
large bodies of people on either side, with a view to surround the
yeomanry, and by moving in upon their flanks intercept them from
the town, which they would thus be also enabled to enter by all the
different approaches. When they had thus extended themselves, they
began by driving a great number of horses on the road against the
yeomen, to throw them into disorder, and then discharged a volley
from their whole front. By this, lieutenants Hant and Pounden were
mortally wounded, and captain Cornock slightly ; several of their
men were also killed or wounded. The rebels' fire was returned with still
greater effect. The firing now continued on both sides for some
minutes, and an officer who was present, observed, that he had never
seen a heavier or better directed fire than came on that occasion from
the rebels.

As the rebels poured in their hot fire, they advanced, closing in on
either side. The yeomen retreated towards the gate from which they
had come out, and sent a message to captain Shower, who commanded
a company of the North Cork militia, and a small detachment of
cavalry commanded by captain Richards, to come to their aid. He
did so; but seeing that — as they blocked up the road, and thus in-
tercepted his fire — no effective aid could be given, he retired to his
station, which was also menaced. The rebels were actually making
their way to the river Slaney, to cross it and enter from that side. At
that point several attacks were made and repulsed with some loss, and
great slaughter of the rebels.

The rebels were too numerous to permit the yeomen to keep
together ; they were pouring in on every side, and it was evident
would soon fill the town, and be enabled to attack them on every side.
To prevent this, the yeomen divided, and iu small parties met the
rebels at the different inlets to the town, in which they slew many,
and were fast driving them back ; but the towns-people began to fire
upon these brave fellows, and when this had not the effect of making
them give way, they set fire to several houses, so that three or four
streets were soon in flames. Nevertheless, the rebels were, after

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 459

a sharp contest, repelled at every point; though, unfortunately, it was
only for the moment.

In the mean time, other large parties were endeavouring to cross
the Slaney, some distance above the bridge ; but having succeeded, they
were saluted with a smart fire by the North Cork from the bridge ;
and with still more effect from the cavalry, who killed many of them
with their carabines. The rebels withdrew from the fire, and made an-
other attempt; but in this too they were met and repelled. While this
was going on, the other parties of assailants rallied; and, profiting by
the dense smoke which filled the town, contrived to make their way
unopposed; so that the yeomen did not perceive them until they were
fiercely charged, and many of them killed or severely wounded. The
conflagration was so violent as to scorch them and singe their fur
caps as they fought under a canopy of fire and thick smoke. The
conflict was now at the fiercest, and the brave yeomanry retired back-
ward, fighting every step, until they reached a small open space at
the market-house. Here they stood firm, and fought with such desperate
courage, that the rebels gave way and fled, leaving the place heaped
with their dead. The streets were cleared, but it was indeed a barren
and dear-bought victory, for the town was burned down, and one-
third of its brave defenders were slain. We shall not lengthen this
sketch by detailing some farther smart attacks which took place
at the river side, where the militia were posted. It will be enough to
say, that the assailants were repulsed with considerable slaughter
at three different points. The total loss of the rebels was about 500
slain.

At this time, some large bodies of rebels in the county of Kildare
submitted to general Lake, without any resistance. They gave up
their leaders, and were allowed to separate peaceably to their homes.

Many lesser affairs, which it is needless to describe, took place in
different localities. • Generally throughout these contests, the rebels
made very dexterous and often most judicious arrangements for the
reception of their enemy; but it may be remarked that they always
gave way at once, unless when their confidence was increased both
by overwhelming disparity of numbers, and some clear advantage
of position.

When these advantages favoured the rebels, their attacks were
singularly impetuous. Without them, the difference was equally re-
markable, as they generally gave way quickly, often taking panic, so
as to appear as if they had come together to be slaughtered without
resistance. Indeed, after several such encounters had taken place, an
outcry was raised by the opposition press and the popular party,
against attacks, which they contended, were made upon the harm-
less multitude. We notice this because it has been echoed in some
of those popular pamphlets which in this, as in everything else, mis-
represent the facts of that time. But, in all these contradictory nar-
rations, there is too much admission, and they are unsupported by
the accounts of the rebels themselves. We think that some thousands
of peaceful citizens, with arms in their hands, upon the hill of Tara,
or marching upon Enniscorthy, or assembled on the Curragh, would
be rather a novel display in human affairs : to wait until some decided

460 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

enterprise might ascertain clearly what they intended would be a
stretch of benevolent simplicity, for which we are inclined to fancy
the government would have met little thanks from the rebels, or praise
from the faction which have attacked them for a different conduct.
Had the different rebel armies, which were broken and disorganized
by a prompt resistance, been allowed to concentrate their masses and
their means; the consequence, so far as the government was concerned,
would have been the same. But the contest would have been most
extensive and ruinous to the entire kingdom; desolation and havoc
would, as in 1641, have walked once more their bloody round and
depopulated the land. For every rebel who was slain, hundreds would
have been massacred; and the government would with better reason be
accused of having nursed a rebellion for the more complete and
effective subjugation of the kingdom. But this most paltry mis-
representation finds no warrant in the language of the conspirators
themselves; nor do we believe that the military spirit of the Irish
peasantry would submit to be so stultified.

The raw and half-disciplined militia, and the very mixed yeomanry
force to which for a time the defence of the kingdom was mainly
trusted, were numerically insufficient. In point of material they were
very various and unequal ; some of the corps were composed of the
bravest and most efficient men; others were comparatively unfit for
service. Of this they were themselves aware. It happened in
some instances, that an apprehension of inefficiency was allowed
to pervade them, instead of the usual military spirit ; a sense of
enmity, and malignity against an irregular foe grew up, elicited
partly by fear, and partly by a natural reciprocity of ill-will — for such
was the spirit in which they knew themselves to be regarded — and
such were the sentiments likely to be generated by the sense of a
latent hostility which lurked in every eye that looked at them. Again,
they were acted upon by another strong affection. It is well known
how much a sentiment of loyalty enters into the habits of the soldier ;
they were not opposed to a legitimate enemy but to rebels, — men whose
hostility was itself treason, and who stood condemned to death by the
law. From these causes a ferocious temper sprung up ; and in some
instances led to cruelties which never fail to be repeated to the injury
of a cause. These were, it may be believed, exaggerated to the
utmost, and swelled with a sum of acts in no way to be avoided. But
blameable as we must assume them to have been — because such inci-
dents must have occurred — in several instances; to say that they
provoked the people to violence, is a flippant fallacy.

The peasantry were, as we know, in the first place, inflamed by their
own leaders, who, with far different feelings, convinced them that they
had much to resent and much to gain. It never, indeed, was any
part of their temper to be so affected by such injuries. They can be
enthusiasts, fanatics; but they are not malignant — they think little of
atrocities moreover. But there are unhappily in rebellion itself, some
most unhappy circumstances, which are perhaps worth the serious
consideration of governments and legislatures: and we have made these
remarks chiefly that we might clear this subject from extraneous
matter.

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 461

By the first laws of the constitution of all governments, rebellion — that
is to say, armed revolts against the existing institutions or government
of the state — is necessarily criminal and liable to the punishment of
treason. Such it has been, in every age, and in every form of society
from which any precedent can be drawn. Nor indeed can a state be
rationally conceived to exist without this principle ; that rebels are
criminals, and liable to the capital penalty awarded by the law of the
land. That they were to be regarded in any other light never entered
the mind of any one but the philosophers of the revolution, and the
visionaries whom their wild speculations had crazed ; and the hot-
headed poets and orators, who, without much reflection, borrowed
from them a vitiated language, by which, without meaning much,
they lent a pernicious sanction to the folly of the people. In sober
earnest, all but a rebel would agree in this one tenet; and it implies
no imputation of any kind to say that this understanding was at that
time adopted and acted on, in the fullest extent, by all the subordinate
jurisdictions and authorities. The admission of the principle involves,
as a consequence, an extra-forensic administration of the executive
power in that state of things to which it applies — for, that state is
essentially a state of war; though involving some peculiar conditions
of an obvious nature. From this it will be at once seen, that much
must be delegated to military administration, and much to the discre-
tion of local jurisdictions. Now, though the government may and
must exercise a merciful discretion, with regard to large bodies of
the peasantry, it is by no means so possible, or so expedient, that
a similar discretion should be exercised in detail, by those lesser
authorities which are themselves beset with the very dangers against
which it is their duty to guard ; who are acting on their peril ; and
whose efficiency must depend on their vigour and decision. Hence
the inevitable severities of martial law in proclaimed districts. So
far, the whole weight of just reproach must entirely fall on those who
will lead a blind and ignorant populace into the operation of such
hapless necessities. But one of the conditions of human nature itself
is abuse of power, which will ever be found to increase as the function-
aries to whom it is committed approach nearer to an equality with
those over whom it is to be vindicated. Fear, jealousy, and party
animosity, are among the strong impulses of inferior persons, and will
give their ambiguous character to the stern duty of resistance.

But in the mean time, the sophistry of popular agitation will have
operated to impress on the mind of the rebel a totally opposite senti-
ment. He does not admit that he is a rebel. He conceives the whole
right to be on his side, and looks on his antagonists as tyrants,
oppressors, and combatants in an unhallowed cause. He persuades
himself, and is persuaded that he is at war with a usurping power.
From this it arises, that his bitterest animosity is kindled by those
acts of justice which proceed upon the degrading notion that he is a
traitor. He is made to feel that he fights with a rope about his neck,
and he resents it with his whole heart. Real atrocities may be per-
petrated under the sanction of the government, by individuals as
brutal as himself, and his leaders and advocates will hold them up to
the censure of mankind, and they will serve to adorn the pages of

462 POLITICAL SERIES.

radical historians. They are not to be defended. But they are not
the complaints of the rebel; he expects to suffer and is ready to inflict
such injuries. He does not much regard consequences, though he con-
siders himself engaged in lawful war ; and imagines that he should
have the equal advantages of the laws of war.

Consequently, he considers that he is bound to retaliate the criminal
justice of the government. Such an inference is involved in the
error under which he has taken arms; and from these causes arise
the greatest evils of rebellion.

We have not space, nor if we had, does it fall within our present
duties to discuss the further questions to which this view should lead.
They are, we think, worth consideration, though not within the pro-
vince of history. We have here only to add, that in those consider-
ations, we trace the cause of the dreadful incidents that now began
to follow the first outbreaks of rebellion. These were unquestionably
heightened much by the infusion of party and sectarian animosity,
which had been carefully fermented by the originators of the insur-
rection. We must now return to the order of our narrative.

The fires of Enniscorthy were seen from Wexford, and communi-
cated terror and resentment to every breast. And soon after arrived
the brave defenders and those who remained of the inhabitants, having,
about four in the evening, left the burning town, on which it was
taken possession of by the rebels, who were watching their departure
from Vinegar hill, on which they had formed a camp. Another was at
the same time formed at the " Three Rocks," within three miles of
Wexford.

In consequence of much mismanagement and some irresolution, the
officer commanding in Wexford was induced to evacuate Wexford
on the 30th of May. The town was on the same day seized by the
rebels, who kept possession of it for three weeks, committing cruelties
of every kind without any restraint. Of these we shall give some
account further on.

In the mean while many occurrences passed. Of these we shall only
give an account of the more remarkable, simply enumerating the rest.
The full history of the events of these few weeks would be materials
for an ample volume.

On the 26th of May, an attack was made by 1000 rebels on Car-
low; but the little garrison was prepared for them, and routed them
with a dreadful slaughter.

Major-general Fawcett was on his way from Duncannon Fort with
a company of the Meath militia : they were cut off by a large rebel
force, and he escaped with difficulty.

In the first week of June, the rebels spread into the Wicklow
mountains, and the efforts made to dislodge them led to no less than
five very smart engagements, in which about 700 rebels were slain.

On the 5th June, the rebels appeared in great strength, (about
30,000), and well equipped and armed before New Ross. They sent
a summons to the town ; but the bearer was shot as he approached, by
the sentry. This occurred about four in the morning, and in an hour
after they came on to the attack. They had adopted the ancient strata-
gem of driving before them large herds of black cattle, which at the

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 463

same time covered the attack, and threw the garrison into some dis-
order; rushing in among the rear of their horned allies, they had
possession of a gun, and were assailing the militia before they had
time to regain their order.

The gun was immediately turned against the military; they, how-
ever, after a very severe struggle, repulsed the enemy at that point. On
this, general Jackson ordered captain Irwine to charge them in the
adjacent field. They fled from the dragoons and took refuge in the
next field by leaping some very high dykes, over which the dragoons
vainly attempted to follow. They similarly escaped from two other
charges, and when they were out of their reach, with their fire, killed
26 dragoons with one officer. In the last field, captain Irwine's horse
was shot by a twelve-pounder which the rebels were in the act of
seizing. He fortunately escaped in their confusion, by an expedient
which required some coolness and promptitude. He was lying within
a few paces of the rebels, when an artillery horse happening to
come by, passed so near that he was enabled to lay hold on one of its
traces, and was thus dragged away towards the town into which he
escaped.

The rebels having entered the town on the same side in consider-
able force, set fire to many houses, which when general Johnson per-
ceived, he brought his artillery to bear upon them from several cross
lanes, and from the old market-place. The eagerness of the rebels,
who evidently relied on their great numerical force, was so excited that
they stood a hot cannonade with extraordinary obstinacy; suffering
themselves to be swept away in ranks, and still rushing upon the troops
over heaps of their dead. It was on this occasion that an incident
occurred, which has often been related as a good blunder, but unless
upon the assumption of drunkenness, seems hardly credible from the
amazing confusion of ideas it implies. A fellow, rushing forward,
thrust his hat and wig into the cannon's mouth, shouting at the same
time, " Come on, boys, her mouth is stopped," — he was yet speaking
when the discharge of the gun scattered him into fragments. " This
fact," says the narrator, " has been verified by the affidavit of a looker-
on."

The immediate result of this enthusiasm was the rout of the troops,
who fled in disorder over the bridge to the Kilkenny side of the river.
But general Johnson followed, led them back and restored the fight.
A small body of the troops had kept their ground near the " Three
Bullet Gate ;" they were about to be attacked by a rebel column which
was advancing towards them : to these the general now galloped, and
informed them that a re-enforcement was coming up. The assurance
kept them to their post, and the general kept his word: a steady fire
was once again opened on the rebel column, which was soon broken.
General Johnson had, in the mean time taken advantage of the re-
spective positions in which both armies were placed, to cut off the
retreat of those who were in the town. He had possession of the
gate by which they had entered; and, by lining the ditches and defen-
sible positions, outside, he prevented the possibility of a re-enforce-
ment, so that not one of them escaped. The rest of the rebels were
at last broken with great slaughter, and took to flight. It was not

464 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

considered safe to pursue them further than the ravine near Corbet
Hill. They had fought with the greatest bravery, and left 2500 dead
on the field. The general lost 88 rank and file, an ensign, and
colonel lord Mount] oy; five officers and 76 men wounded; 54 horses
killed, and four missing.

This battle was of critical moment, as it was discovered that a
general rising of the populace was arranged to follow the event of
the town being won by the rebels. The treasurers of the United
Irish, in Waterford, were on the point of sending off their messengers
to the south, when the event of the battle prevented them, and discon-
certed their arrangement. General Johnson conducted this battle
with remarkable skill and activity, facing every danger, and contriving
amid much confusion to be present at every point of emergency. He
had two horses shot under him, and his escape was considered marvel-
lous by those who witnessed the free exposure of his person through
the day. His force was about 1200 militia and troops of the line,
with 150 yeomen against 30,000 rebels, about 7000 of which had
fire-arms and all pikes. The battle lasted ten hours.

One great error seems to have been committed by the general.
Fearing that in the event his soldiers might not have it in their power
to distinguish between the rebels and the loyal inhabitants, he gave
the strange and inconsiderate order, that the loyal protestants should
give up their arms and quit the town — (we must say that we can
hardly admit this report) : of course those who obeyed this mad order
were massacred abroad. Fortunately for themselves and for the
general, many disobeyed and were thus enabled in the moment of
extremity to give most important assistance. And let us here em-
phatically record our settled opinion, that there is no duty of obedi-
ence to such a requisition. The strict right of self-defence is inalien-
able, and cannot be involved in any law grounded on the true prin-
ciples of all law. It is one of the ultimate rights. And when by
accident those who are compelled by their duty to come in any way
into collision with this right, it is at their own peril that their duty must
be done. For disarming the subject, there must be ostensible and
essential grounds ; but when so disarmed, the duty of protecting their
lives becomes increased to a first duty. The doubt of general
Johnson was an unquestionable ground for some restrictive measure;
but his duty was, at all risks to protect those whom he disarmed. And
so sacred is the principle, that the person who cannot be efficiently
protected, cannot be lawfully disarmed.*

Among the prisoners taken were many loyalists, who became in-
volved in the confusion: these were saved with great difficulty from the
soldiery, infuriated as they were by so much resistance and by the
repulses they had met. The soldiers were, however, reduced to order,
and they were also kept on the alert by the necessary precautions of
defence, as the enemy rallied but a few miles off.

Most unhappily a great many persons of both sexes had been col-

* As we cannot expand so as to guard against all misconception, we should say
that, in cases of apprehended rebellion, it is perfectly lawful to disarm those classes
from which it is to be feared. To this, the principle does not apply; it is plain
that in such a case, there are those who need no protection.

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZG1BBON, EARL OF CLARE. 465

lected together from the surrounding district by the rebels into the
house and barn of a Mr King of Scullabogue, with the intention of
keeping them as hostages for the safety of such rebels as might be
taken prisoners. But the fury of the battle and the vindictive sense
of disappointment and defeat had now full possession of the rebels.
They seized on some obvious pretexts for the gratification of a most
fiendish spirit of revenge: among these was the circumstance of
their messenger having been shot by the sentry in the morning ; and
there were several occasions when rebels taken in arms had been slain
by the soldiers. Not considering that these prisoners were not either
enemies or in any way involved in the war, they determined on putting
them to death. As there was a guard upon the houses, which had
not been engaged in the battle, and were therefore free from the
passions by which the fugitives were now actuated, these execrable
savages had to force their own guard, who would have protected their
helpless charge. The house was forced, and thirty persons butchered
in it; the barn then, into which was thronged as many as it could
hold, was set fire to, and not one escaped from the flames. The
perpetrators of this infernal atrocity were never ascertained.

Before stating the particulars of the main events which followed,
we may enumerate some of the numerous lesser affairs which were at
the same time taking place in different quarters. Many of these — and
they are very numerous — are not now of sufficient interest to detain
our narrative. There occurred two very severe, though small actions,
on the 7th of June, near Antrim, after which lord O'Neil was killed
by a pike wound, in the attempt to reach Antrim with a small party.
In the two actions nearly 800 rebels were slain, and about 30 of the
king's troops and yeomen.

One gentleman, a Mr M'Cleverty, was carried off by nearly 2000
rebels, who fell out among themselves. Their prisoner conducted
himself with so much address, that he converted 1500 of them to
loyalty — more in consequence dispersed, and not more than about
fifty remained. If true, the incident is singular.

On the 5th of June was fought the battle of Arklow. On the
previous day colonel Walpole had attacked a strong post of the rebels
on the Slieusbury mountain : he was unfortunately slain in the begin-
ning of the attack, and his corps compelled to retire to Arklow.
Gathering confidence from their retreat the rebels determined to make
an attack on Arklow. Here there was a strong garrison under the
command of general Needham. This officer took up a strong position
in front of the barracks. The rebels came on in great force, pouring
rapidly on the Coolgrueny road, and joined as they came by a large
multitude of people armed with pikes. When they had approached
sufficiently within range, the general opened a heavy fire of grape shot,
which did considerable execution. They extended themselves, in
order to turn his left flank, which was exposed; but were met by a
charge from his cavalry, and sent back in disorder. They as usual
persisted until they had tried every chance, and were at last routed at
every point. Great numbers were slain, and among the rest father
Murphy, who was their favourite commander. Their loss was esti-
mated at 1000, by general Needham.

VOL. v. 2 G

466 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Up to the 1 1th of June, it is to be observed, the king's troops must
be considered as having acted entirely on the defensive. In the proper
sense of the word no army had been collected, and no system of
regular and connected movements adopted. Though, as we have
already said, the government had been in possession of the main facts
of the conspiracy, they were not altogether prepared for the spon-
taneous movement of the peasantry; but seem to have been under the
impression that, in seizing the leaders, they had completely frustrated
the whole design. Any where but in Ireland, the notion might not be
so illusory. Consequently they had thought it a sufficient precaution
to strengthen the military posts and garrison towns. They could not
indeed well have anticipated a succession of attacks so improvident
and rash as were actually made. The events which we have related,
apprised them of the error; and, while they communicated serious
alarm, infused more vigour into their proceedings; so much that, as
quickly as the time permitted, forces more adequate to the emergency
were collected and put in motion. Even in the extremity, the factious
opposition which would have impeded all their proceedings was not
for a moment intermitted. Party- leaders solely intent on the ordinary
purposes of faction, availed themselves of the exigency of the moment to
embarrass their opponents; and, so far as they might presume, misrepre-
sented every act of the government, and gave encouragement and sanc-
tion to every crime and folly of the infatuated populace, by means of
those unprincipled and perilous absurdities and consequences which
form the staple of democratic eloquence. In the magniloquent language
of the popular rhetorician, an insurgent rabble, armed against the
peace, the worth, honesty, and respectability of the country, was digni-
fied as the suffering people; and the most urgently necessary and
scarcely adequate steps taken to meet and repress the evil, were
described as the extreme of despotic cruelty. The consequence in
which our narrative is now mainly involved, was this, that the Irish
administration was thereby placed under very considerable disadvan-
tages. The liberals of that day were far stronger than they have
been since, (until the last twenty years at least,) and in England where
Irish affairs have never been rightly comprehended, they produced
strong impressions. It could not be sufficiently understood that in
some respects their representations were wholly false, and in others
they did not understand what they were speaking of. The very best
of them were but orators — men who would have declaimed about
Magna charta, Habeas corpus, and the liberty of the press, if they
were transported to the south sea islands. So far as such men could
influence, it was not easy to meet the prejudices they raised; and these
men were too able in their own popular sphere; too brilliant; too
amiable ; and some of them too respectable, not to have great influ-
ence. And let it be called to mind, that there are occasions when
the only strict line of duty must unhappily be such as to offend the
more generous and softer sensibilities of human nature. We trust
therefore that in these strictures, nothing we have said may receive a
construction offensive to the memory of those illustrious men to whom
they are confessedly intended to apply.

We shall now endeavour to present an outline of the main proceed-

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 467

ings which are to be considered as terminating this disastrous insur-
rection. During the period thus marked out, there still continued a
scattered war from post to post, of which the incidents, though remark-
able enough, cannot be considered to bear much on the result. The
battle of Ballinahinch may be selected for the fierceness with which
it was fought, and the pacific dispositions it seems to have imparted
to the rebels. These were posted very strongly near the town of
Ballinahinch, on the 10th of June — when major general Nugent
advanced against them. Some skilful manoeuvres compelled them to
change their position. They were attacked a little after daybreak
next morning — the general so ordering his attack that in their retreat
the rebels might be forced to the mountains, and thus save the inhabi-
tants of the surrounding country. They were attacked in two
different directions. In both they made the most determined resis-
tance and were repulsed — they made repeated stands, and endeavoured
to seize the guns; but were at last forced to fly in all directions open
to them. Their number was computed to be about 20,000, their loss
400. On the king's side there were five rank-and-tile killed, and an
officer; fourteen, and one officer, wounded. A few days after, this
party of rebels sent to apply for pardon to major general Nugent,
offering to surrender their arms and ammunition. The general agreed
to accept their submission, on the condition that they should deliver
up their leader and principal instigators. Their general, a person of
the name of Munro, was taken on the morning of the 15th; he was
immediately tried by a court martial, and suffered the penalty of his
crimes. Among the documents produced on his trial was the follow-
ing pithy proclamation.

" Not to pay any rent to the disaffected landlords, and the inhabi-
tants of the county of Down.

" Headquarters, Ballinahinch, 12th June, 1Y98."

An attack on Kilbeggan brought on a sharp engagement, in which
a party of four thousand rebels were defeated by a very small force,
brought together from different quarters in the hurry of the moment.

There are two main occurrences which more especially require
something more of detail, — the battle of Vinegar Hill, and the occu-
pation and relief of Wexford.

Vinegar Hill stands over the town of Enniscorthy, and is nearly twelve
miles from the town of Wexford. We have already mentioned, that
on their repulse in the town of Enniscorthy, the rebels took a station on
Vinegar Hill, where they fixed a camp and were re-enforced by large
parties. Here numerous inhabitants, from the surrounding country,
who had not succeeded in escaping, were brought up, tried, and put to
death, as persons disaffected to the rebel cause. On the top of the
hill, their green flag appeared on the ruin of an old windmill.

On the 21st of June, general Lake commenced his arrangements at
7 A.M., to attack this principal stronghold. His plan was to surround
the rebels, so as by preventing their escape to obtain a decided surren-
der, which it was thought would materially contribute to put an end
to the rebellion. For this purpose, the general arrangements of the
plan were fully adequate; but there were either unfortunate contiu-

468 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

gencies or errors in the execution, by which the result fell short of
what was intended. It has been by some, indeed, attributed to the fear
of encountering1 the desperation of a large force of brave men shut in
on every side, — if this were the case, we should not hesitate to brand
such a case of failure with a strong term of reproach. But there was
a far more honourable reason. The army was, it is well known, in a
very low state of discipline, and strongly animated by party passions
and vindictive feelings, and their commanders might well have been ap-
prehensive of the consequence which could hardly have failed to occur.
The Irish peasantry are subject to a transition from the most frantic
valour to the most helpless state of panic; and having fought with
almost resistless impetuosity, when they give way, will hardly strike a
stroke for life. The commanders of the king's forces knew that the
result of the victory would have been a most fearful and deplorable
butchery of thousands of those deluded wretches. The fact stated was,
that after an hour of firing on both sides, general Needham had not yet
arrived to occupy the space left for his force in the chain of positions.
The rebels had expended their powder in about an hour and a half,
they began themselves to perceive that they were on the point of being
surrounded, and with great precipitation rushed towards the open space
which was left, and escaped. They were slaughtered to a considerable
amount. Several officers were slain of the king' s troops, and many
severely wounded.

Discouraged by this event, the rebels who held the town of Wex-
ford now proposed to surrrender ; and it may be allowed that it would
have been well if the offer could have been taken ; but there were cir-
cumstances which rendered it a question of very doubtful policy and
prudence. And if it can with truth be alleged, that it would have put
an end to the ravages which were then laying desolate so many fair dis-
tricts; still, it cannot be said on any sure ground, that such a consequence
was to be anticipated, in a warfare which, on the side of the rebels,
was entirely without conduct or apparent discretion. However we
may join in stigmatizing the savage temper in which outrages were
resisted on many occasions, yet there is a plain truth which can
not but be seen — that the kind of peace looked for by the rebels was
one as likely to renew and keep alive the spirit of insurrection as to
allay it. It was necessary to assert the authority of government, and to
make it manifest that those who had misled the ignorant populace, could
not be admitted to the privilege of a treaty. Such a false step would
have been chorused by the agitators of every age, to a people so
apprehensive as the Irish. It would have imparted a prouder post to
the rebel, who would have seen and represented the transaction in his
own way. The submission of the rebels was in every instance accep-
ted; the offer of the leaders was refused for precisely the same reason
that such offers would not be received, and ought not, from any other
persons guilty of capital felonies or treasons. Many lives might have
at the time perhaps been saved, by a step which was much more likely
to perpetuate murder. It will be a hapless hour for Ireland, or for
any nation, when the disturber of the people is free from the terrors
of justice. The Wexford leaders proposed to lay down their arms
and to induce the people to return to their allegiance, provided their

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 469

persons and properties should be guaranteed by the officer command-
ing1 the king's troops.

The case of the Wexford leaders is indeed very peculiar, and can-
not be thought of without regret. This will best appear from our brief
narrative of the events in Wexford, during the three weeks in which
it was occupied by the rebels.

In the town of Wexford, the horrors of the French Revolution were
equalled and surpassed. It was shown on a small scale to what
rebellion among the lower orders must ever lead. For though much
humanity was called forth, there were not wanting execrable passions,
and monsters in human shape, to govern (and such will always take
the lead) circumstances. After the fight of Enniscorthy, the streets of
Wexford were filled with a terrified crowd of every rank ; the gentry
of the surrounding country with their wives and families, driven from
their homes, came mingled with their humble neighbours to the town
as to a place of refuge. The inhabitants of the town, justly distrust-
ing the means of defence, had crowded into the vessels which were lying
in the harbour, in the delusive hope of thus escaping from the horrors
which they too truly anticipated. At first, there was some hope that at
least a struggle would be made ; and some preparations were commenced
by taking precautions against the firing of the houses, by means of which
the rebels had hitherto endeavoured to make good their entrance.
Orders were given to put out all fires, and the roofs were stripped
from thatched houses. But when the garrison held a council, it was
decided that any attempt to defend the town would be quite unavail-
ing. It was next resolved to endeavour to make terms with the rebels,
and surrender the town on their pledge to preserve the inhabitants
from injury. Mr Richards and Doctor Jacobs were commissioned for
this purpose, and the terms were accepted. All the troops, and such
of the yeomen as were unmarried, marched out and made their way to
Duncannon Fort.

The rebels were not slow to take possession. Every effort was
made by the leaders to preserve order; but their savage followers
were utterly incapable of any discipline or subordination but the
tumultuary obedience of the fray. For a few days, the fierce and
humoursome crowd lay like some element of combustion — with diffi-
culty withheld from acts of violence, by leaders whom they kept in
subjection. But their entire demeanour was such as to convey unut-
tered horrors and atrocities, and to fill the timorous crowd that now
lay at their mercy with terror. The same dark and gloomy appre-
hensions extended to the crowds of fugitives on board the shipping —
for when the white flag was seen floating over the town, it was answered
by the ships, which, with the exception of two, now showed themselves
to be in collusion with the rebels, by hoisting the same flag. Their
fear-struck inmates were now landed, seized upon, and exposed to
all insults and abuses. The rebels crowded the streets ; they are
described by Mr Charles Jackson, one of the sufferers on the occa-
sion here described. He was just landed from one of the ships,
when " one of the captains (of the name of Furlong) came up to me,
and asked me if I belonged to the town, and whether I had any arms ?
I told him that at the house where I had lived, I had a musket. He

2 G 2

470 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

bid me follow him, and give it up. We passed through crowds of the
rebels, who were in the most disorderly state without the least appear-
ance of discipline. They had no kind of uniform, but were most of
them in the dress of labourers, with white bands round their hats, and
green cockades, being the only marks by which they could be dis-
tinguished. It was impossible for a mob to be more wild and frantic —
many of them seemed to be in a state of intoxication."* This person
was severely handled, and saved with difficulty from the hands of these
cut-throats — made several escapes, which ended by his being lodged in
Wexford gaol, with two hundred and fifty Protestants. The scenes
to which he was witness for several following days, have thus obtained
a record. A few passages will sufficiently convey the whole. On the
evening of the first day of his incarceration, was the commencement
of scenes which outgo in atrocity the horrible gaol deliveries of Robes-
pierre. " A fellow of the name of Dick, who had formerly been a
shoe-black in the town, but now was raised by the rebels to the rank
of captain, came into the gaol and bid us prepare our souls for
death ; for that all of us, except such as on examination he should re-
lease, would be put to death at twelve o'clock that night. The man-
ner of his examining was twofold; first politically, and then religiously.
The form of his political examination was this. Q. Are you straight?
A. I am. Q. How straight ? A. As straight as a rush. Q. Go on
then? A. In truth, in unity, and in liberty. Q. What have you got
in your hand? A. A green bough. Q. Where did it first grow?
A. In America. Q. Where did it bud? A. In France. Q. Where
are you going to plant it? A. In the crown of Great Britain." These
questions and answers, which were a part of the United Irishmen's
Catechism, are very instructive. They contain, in a few significant
words, the true history of the rebellion, from the mouths of the rebels
themselves. They were answered by six, who were in consequence
acquitted of loyalty, and liberated from the doom which now awaited
the remainder. A few more days their fate was suspended by the
efforts of a few leading men. Some murders were committed, and
the cowardice of Jackson exposed him to the infamous office of being
their executioner on one of those occasions.

On the 20th of June, there was a call for a large part of the rebel
garrison, to re- enforce their camp at the Three Rocks, where an attack
was expected from the troops under the command of general Moore."}"
This was fatal to the unfortunate prisoners. The brave and humane
men who had hitherto preserved some order, with the better condi-
tioned portion of their forces, were thus drawn away — the dregs of a
disorderly rabble remained behind, with a monster of the name of
Dixon at their head. The very name of mercy now left the devoted
town ; and this barbarian, to preserve enough of form to give a zest
to cruelty, thought it necessary to institute a mock trial. The offer
of pardon was made to Jackson and some other detestable poltroons,
to be witnesses against their fellow-prisoners. They satisfied them-
selves with the consideration, that their evidence was but a form, and

* Narrative of Mr Jackson.
f Afterwards the illustrious General Sir Jonn Moore.

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 471

in their fear, overlooked the baseness of the office : they took on
them the character of Orangemen, and as such, denounced all the rest.
These were now taken in parties of from eighteen to twenty, and
murdered on the bridge of Wexford, with the most revolting circum-
stances of cruelty. Dixon had intended that the slaughters should be
perpetrated in the jail ; but his wife, worthy of her husband, overruled,
and insisted that the people should not be so cheated of the pleasant
sight. This incident sounds as a horrible extravagance ; yet all
accounts clearly indicate that such was the spirit in which these deeds
of death were done and looked upon. One by one, the victims were
led up to a mock tribunal, and the question was asked if any one could
tell of any good they had ever done, to save their lives. Silence gave
the only signal, and all the varieties and combinations of shooting,
piking, and drowning, gratified the laughing and cheering crowd.
The pusillanimous Jackson was himself included among the con-
demned ; fortunately for him, at the end of a day of cold slaughter,
after eighty-one had been led out by droves to the same bloody thea-
tre, seventeen more, of which he was one, were led forth. " The
blood of those who had been already executed on this spot, (eighty-
one in number,) had more than stained — it streamed upon the ground
about us." The murderers proceeded with savage deliberation — it was
fortunate for many of the victims : they had despatched three, and were
yet torturing the fourth, when Philip Roche entered the town in great
haste, and called out to beat to arms, and that Vinegar Hill was beset.
The slaughter ceased. The organist, the town bailiff, and Jackson,
were on their knees for death — they were hurried back to jail — and
soon after the royal forces entered the town.

We forbear from prolonging our narrative, with the recital of the
numerous horrors of the same character, of which records are still
preserved. There is one reason, and but one, why such representa-
tions ought to be preserved ; but that is indeed, not a slight one — they
are the necessary results of popular violence when it is suffered to take
head. And the most objectionable means by which this can be resisted
are in comparison slight indeed. Injustice ought not to be the re-
source : it ought not to be required. But resistance must be resorted
to, and this will always be enough to exasperate when it is not
enough to repress. The rebellion was, until the last, met with insuffi-
cient means ; the matter was left too long in doubt, and fanaticism was
allowed to rise to the boiling point. Above all, the desultory strug-
gles which were allowed to carry war into every house, created animo-
sity between classes — the protestant farmers, assailed in the home of
all their most pervading and deepest affections, could not fail to enter
with their passions into the strife. Those who only think of the war
of nations, are not quite aware of the difference occasioned by the
personal resentments of the adversaries.

It now only remains to offer some general remarks on the incidents
of this insurrection. We have already traced many of the calamities
it inflicted on the country, to the insufficient and desultory resistance
of the government, and shown how (chiefly from the presumptuous
misstatements of popular politicians) the danger was underrated. The
rebels on their part were equally destitute of council and common

472 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

centre of action: deprived of all the plotting heads which had first
given impulse to the movement, they were led by shrewd and intelli-
gent but unskilful persons, who acquired the ascendancy among them,
more from their personal qualifications, or their previous official
authority, than from either the talent, or even the will to lead them to
the field. In most cases, the priest preserved the authority of his sta-
tion, only taking a post, which he was scarcely permitted to refuse, and
in which he was in some measure enabled to soften the horror and
atrocity of his flagitious followers. In some instances, gentlemen were
compelled to save their lives by accepting of the command: of this we
shall have a melancholy instance to relate. The commander, what-
ever was his rank, could exercise but a restricted power: the ablest and
most popular of the leaders, father Philip Roche, was frequently com-
pelled to use the most complicated expedients to rescue the prisoner from
his fate. This unfortunate person demands also some separate notice.

The encampments of the rebel armies were the repositories of the
entire plunder of the surrounding country — their tents were covered
with expensive carpets and filled with costly furniture of every por-
table kind — droves of cattle, slaughtered with lavish prodigality,
feasted the crowd, and tainted the air around them. This, together
with the contamination arising from the heaps of human slaughter,
which lay unburied in many places, would have brought on a plague,
had the rebellion continued much longer in that hot summer.

By the concentration of the forces on either side, the battles had,
after the 20th, become more decided. And from the general preva-
lence of victory on the loyal side, the spirit of the people became
subdued. As Mr Tone observed, they were crushed, and universally
began to show a disposition to return to their allegiance. This
consideration suggested a change of policy ; among the measures which
the emergency of the previous state of affairs had appeared to demand,
it had been thought it might be expedient to send over a military
viceroy — it was probably in compliance with the earnest urgency of the
popular party, and under impressions made by their strong assertions,
that a popular selection was now made in the person of lord Corn-
wallis. To this change, popular historians attribute most inconside-
rately the change of measures which followed, but which was entirely
due to the complete change of the popular spirit. This is quite above
all question; the uniform policy in every instance observed through
the rebellion had been to accept the submission of the people, and only to
insist on the surrender of arms and leaders; and less than this would have
been insanity. But resistance was now virtually at an end, and the
justifiable fears of a few individuals, alone kept up the expiring
embers of the fire. To say, that under such circumstances, lord
Camden would have continued a course of unresisted hostility, is nothing
better than simple nonsense. And it is amply illustrated by the fact,
that no severity which policy appears to have required was omitted
by his successor.

Once more, too, because it is important, we must distinctly state
that we have not adverted to the atrocities committed by the rebels
in the spirit of reproach ; as we entirely repudiate the exaggerated
allegations of cruelties committed on the loyal side, so far as any

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 473

reproach to the administration has been their drift : a little common
observation ought to have made it plain, that they were on both sides
the common workings of those base elements of human nature, which
any cause, however good or evil, will rouse into activity in all popular
strivings. On both sides, it is to be presumed, there were low minds,
bigotry, and vindictive animosity. But if we were to cast a strict
balance between the delinquents of either party, we would be inclined
to prefer to make allowance for those who had for their excuse that
their lives and homes, and all that was dear to them, were threatened
by a savage populace.

As to the real amount of the cruelties charged against certain in-
dividuals, we ought to add, that we have only admitted them because
we have not distinctly the means or the space to cross-examine the
evidence. But it would be unpardonable weakness to dismiss the
subject without stating our impression, that the whole has been
founded on a few incidents by the lying recrimination of faction.
Our reason is mainly this, that we have so uniformly found a mixed
tissue of misrepresentation and fallacy in the entire of the history of
the ten years from 1790 to 1800; that unless when it is confirmed by
the direct admissions of their most authoritative adversaries, it must
be received with doubt.

The government of lord Camden and his advisers was no more
severe than circumstances rendered imperative and indispensable.
There was no alternative but revolution — an event which would have
extended the scenes of Wexford and Gorey through every city and
town in Ireland. They who think otherwise, are imposed upon by the
ridiculous generalities in which they allow their tongues and pens to
deal. Lord Clare, in his able and unanswerable speech in reply to the
good and amiable romancing of the earl of Moira, made the assertion
that the government attacked so unfairly, had been one of conciliation.
This, we trust, has been very clearly proved ; and it is a strong addi-
tional proof, that after a change of administration — which has been
praised as a change of measures — from harshness to lenity, it was still
considered by the mild policy of lord Cornwallis, necessary that some
very severe examples should be made. In reality, there was no
change of policy. The entire suppression of the rebellion was follow-
ed by trials and executions which cannot be justified on the ground
taken by the popular historians: but which, on the recognised laws of
sound policy and justice, need no defence.

But the eyes of the deluded multitude had been momentarily torn
open : the fatal vapours which had been raised around them had been
dispelled by the thunders of civil war. They were returning to their
homes, and surrendering their arms — an entire change had come
upon them — and this demanded and produced a change of policy as a
matter of course. A general amnesty was proclaimed ; a few months
sooner, it would have been laughed at; it was received as a mercy.
The French invasion came too late for its design. We shall return to
it, and relate it as a separate incident.

The leaders of the United Irishmen, who had fortunately been se-
cured, (as already related,) received also the benefits and advantages
extended to their duped followers. They were reprieved from the legal

474 POLITICAL SERIES. [FiFTH

penalty of their crime on certain conditions. Of these, and of the
questions to which they gave rise, we have already made some men-
tion: but as we shall be compelled to dwell upon them in another
memoir, we shall omit them here.

A question may arise in the reader's mind, as to the degree in which
the crime and error here so largely discussed can be imputed to the
gentry or the priesthood of the Romish church. Their gentry and
aristocracy are clear even of imputation. With the clergy it is some-
what different; there were some strong appearances against them.
Of those inferences which some have drawn from the principles and
policy of the Church of Rome, we shall not need to speak : for on the
immediate occasion out of which our present remarks arise, they are
not applicable. The point to be considered, is simply as to the facts : to
some extent it is certain that the people were actually commanded by
their priests. Now, what the priests might do as servants of their
church, if their own sense of duty imposed it, we do not say: but we
are clearly of opinion, that such at that time was not the moving con-
sideration. Setting aside the peculiar vices of individual temper and
intellect, which in some cases had unquestionable weight, we think that
the part taken by the clergy was then involuntary. The peasantry,
when concentrated and elevated by the acquisition of an imaginary
power, have ever been thoroughly intolerant of neutrality: they will
not admit the slightest question of their more than despotic control —
and not to take part with them, heart and hand, is to be against them.
This is the common character of the populace of all nations ; for it is
that of mere undisciplined human nature ; but it is the spirit itself of
the Celtic races. Not to pursue refinements — we are clearly of opinion,
looking to a wide compass of details, that the clergy were but as
feathers on the stream, carried along by a power and by passions over
which they had no control. So far, indeed, is rendered in some degree
apparent, by the straits to which some of them were driven in their
efforts to save the lives of protestants, who had the ill fortune to fall
into the hands of the miscreants who surrounded them.

The earl of Clare was the most prominent, as he was the ablest ad-
vocate for the legislative union; and it is under his memoir that we
should state its history. But as we have not yet concluded the me-
moirs of those persons whose lives are interwoven with the preceding
events, we shall avoid much inconvenient repetition, by postponing this
topic to a future memoir.

We should apologize for entering so very little into the personal
history of lord Clare; but that we feel the course we have taken, while
it fulfils the main object of this work, which is to give the fullest out-
line of the history of his time, is also the most effective means of
executing the office of a biographer to one whose name and memory
are wholly committed in the view which may be taken of that history.
Whatever may have been his lordship's deserts, they were of a descrip-
tion which in Ireland could never be otherwise than unpopular. In
this country, in which all the varied causes which retard national pro-
gress and promote disorder seem to have met together and occupied
the soil until they have become native to it, the laurels of renown
have been reserved for the flatterers and instigators of an uncivilized

PERIOD.] JOHN FITZGIBBON, EARL OF CLARE. 47-5

democracy : and it is now much to perform, or even to dare, to clear in
some degree the briars and brambles which the basest and most
audacious slander, and prejudices the narrowest, have planted over
the monuments of men like John Fitzgibbon, earl of Clare.

This nobleman died in 1802. His character may be briefly summed.
His intellect was rapid, clear, and full of power; but its power seems
to have more consisted in sagacity and sound common sense, than in
depth or extraordinary comprehensiveness — still, for mere intellect, he
may be placed at the head of the eminent Irishmen, among whom he
was an actor. He was still more eminently above these illustrious
persons in the moral features of his character: with profound, but
rough and masculine strength of feeling, he was endowed with a
degree of moral firmness, and a superiority to popular influences, rarely
belonging to public men. Without the high and chivalric scorn which
for a season impelled Grattan to shake off the base dictation of the
rabble — or the comprehensive enthusiasm which raised the flight of
Burke far above it: lord Clare pursued a steady course under the
guidance of settled principle, and wholly impassive to the influences
of opinions and passions in which he had no participation, and for
which he entertained no respect. Of such a character, he probably
possessed the infirmities. Notwithstanding the numerous general
charges against him, it is very curiously remarkable, that when we
come to distinct statements, either the conduct imputed to him is
wholly imaginary, or the pardonable result of exceeding provocation,
from the arrogance and petulance of the complaining person. And it
is still more remarkable, that wherever his individual conduct can be
traced, it is most signally characterized by the most active and prompt
humanity. Of this, a striking instance will be related in the life of
lord Edward Fitzgerald. The escape of Hamilton Rowan will fur-
nish another; some have been noticed in previous memoirs, and many
must pass unnoticed. Violently counteracted and resisted, he was per-
haps not so nice as more temperate times would have required and
allowed of in his resistance. Assailed with opprobrious language where
he was conscious of right, it is to be inferred that resentment must fre-
quently have been the inmate of his breast. Accustomed to be misre-
presented in all things, he must have been the mildest of men if no
vindictive spirit was awakened. It was no light provocation to be per-
petually goaded with the language of virtuous indignation, by men on
whose conduct and opinions he looked down with strong censure and
scorn; and lastly, when in the course of events he saw the disorders of
the kingdom ready to overwhelm all that was worth preserving in a
half civilized country, it cannot be doubted that his zeal must have been
exasperated to fierceness, and may have been carried beyond the
bounds of lenity : this the circumstances required ; party itself had gone
far beyond the pale of the constitution ; but even if this were not true,
he would stand justified on common grounds. We cannot see on what
grounds a monopoly of violence can be claimed for rebels and assassins,
and nothing be allowed for the one who nearly alone in that dreadful
time stood firm and unappalled at the post of duty, himself " the ob-
ject selected eminently for vengeance, by the ferocity of an ensanguined
rabble."

476 POLITICAL SERIES. [FlFTH

Concerning his private life, we shall conclude with two paragraphs
from the hand of one of the most eminent of his contemporaries. " As
to his private life, it is well known that the same steadiness which sus-
tained his public conduct, governed his personal attachment. His
friendships were sincere and fixed ; and although in a character marked
by such strength of features, the lineaments of the softer virtues could
scarcely be expected to mix ; yet they who knew him in the unbendings
of his retirement, have often witnessed the genuine indication of their
existence, and can fully attest the spontaneous and animated emotions
of a latent tenderness, which it seemed as much his study carefully to
conceal, as in this age of affected sensibility it is that of others to dis-
play. In this, indeed, as in other parts of his conduct, it is to be lamented,
that an habitual disgust against all hypocritical appearances had so far
wrought upon his mind, as to render him generally anxious to sup-
press, lest he might be supposed to affect, feelings and qualities the
most honourable and endearing. The occasions, however, have not
been few, in which, even to the public eye, the milder virtues of his
nature broke through this restraint. And if the charities of domestic
life be received as evidence of the kindly dispositions of the heart,
perhaps in no case can such proofs be adduced, more abundant and
convincing.

" In all matters of pecuniary concern, his dealings were directed
by a strict and punctual regard to his engagements ; and at the same
time distinguished by a liberality which, without indulging in those
excesses which beget embarrassment and sacrifice independence, mani-
festly evinced a mind aloof from the sordid love of accumulation. In
him, indeed, honesty and liberality can scarcely be said to have claimed
the rank of virtues. They required no effort, and could boast no
triumph, when a rooted contempt of wealth precluded all means of
their counteraction. And it deserves to be remarked, that amongst
the numerous calumnies which a vindictive malice has endeavoured to
cast upon the fame of this distinguished person, the tongue of slander
has never whispered the imputation of a single act of mercenary
meanness."*

* Funeral Sermon by Archbishop Magee.

Dublin : Macgregor, Poison & Co., Printers.

Wills, James (ed.)

Lives of illustrious and
W55 distinguished Irishmen

v.5

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